THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 


ALUMNUS 
BOOK  FUND 


ASCUTNEY  STREET 


A  NEIGHBORHOOD  STORY 


BY 


MRS.  A.  D.  T.  ^WHITNEY 


BOSTON    AND    NEW    YORK 
HOUGHTON,  MIFFLIN  AND   COMPANY 


1891 


ALUMNUS 


Copyright,  1890, 
BT  ADELINE   D.  T.  WHITNEY. 

All  rights  reserved. 


The  Riverside  Press,  Cambridge,  Mass.,  U.  S.  A. 
Electrotyped  and  Printed  by  H.  0.  lloughton  &  Company. 


ASCUTNEY  STREET. 


CHAPTER  I. 

ASCUTNEY  STEEET  is  a  shady  little  thoroughfare, 
running  westerly  between  Midland  Avenue,  where 
the  horse-cars  from  the  neighboring  city  pass,  to 
Katahdin  Street,  which  crosses  it  at  the  top.  It 
is  in  a  comfortable  suburb  where  a  new  district 
has  been  built  up  on  a  boom  and  christened  with 
a  pretty  name,  —  Wellswood ;  it  is  pleasant  and 
quiet,  with  houses  of  moderate  air  and  pretension 
occupying  the  not  very  large  lots  on  either  side. 

These  houses,  however,  have  certain  modern 
touches  about  them,  which  link  them,  as  it  were 
generically,  with  the  prouder  mansions  which  do 
not  stand  on  streets,  but  have  private  approaches 
from  the  common  highway,  and  occupy  the  aristo 
cratic  seclusion  of  their  own  wide  grounds.  It  is 
the  way  with  houses  and  people,  in  these  days ; 
some  touch  of  art,  as  truly  as  of  nature,  makes  the 
whole  world  kin. 

These  little  houses  in  Ascutney  Street  had,  some 

023 


2  ASCUTNEY  STREET. 

of  them,  their  Dutch  doors  with  glazed  upper  halves ; 
some  of  them  their  projecting  upper  story  and 
hooded  windows  ;  all  had  at  least  some  eccentricity 
of  color  or  contrasting  of  clapboard  work  and 
shingles.  So  Ascutney  Street  took  rank,  as  it  had 
been  laid  out  to  do,  with  pronounced  gentility, 
albeit  in  a  small  way. 

The  people  of  Wellswood  had  conceived  the  idea 
of  making  the  mountains  sponsors  for  their  avenues 
and  byways ;  and  the  brisk  demand  for  lots  laid 
out  on  Ascutney  Street  vindicated  their  sagacity. 

Ascutney  Street  was  "as  good  as  Katahdin 
Street,"  and  Katahdin  Street  was  "as  good  as 
Shasta  Street,"  way  out  on  the  new  western  limit. 
So  of  course  the  syllogistic  deduction  was,  that  As 
cutney  Street  was  as  good  as  Shasta  Street,  which 
is  to  say  as  good  as  anything  on  the  planet  need 
to  be. 

The  horse-car  conductors  and  the  little  boys  called 
it  "  'Scntney  Street ;  "  but  some  travelers  call  the 
great  Vermont  peak  so,  which  does  not  belittle  it 
at  all ;  and  the  dwellers  on  the  happy  line  gave  it 
its  three  distinct  syllables  with  religious  fidelity. 

There  were  two  or  three  persons  on  Ascutney 
Street  who  knew  people  on  Katahdin  Street.  These 
accordingly  ruled  on  Ascutney,  and  led  the  little 
variations  and  advances  of  style  in  cards  and  invita 
tions,  dishes  and  garnitures.  In  Katahdin  Street, 


ASCUTNEY  STREET.  3 

again,  a  few  favored  ones  had  friends  over  on 
Shasta ;  and  ruled,  in  turn,  their  middle  province. 
On  Shasta,  Heaven  knew  who  ruled,  or  whence  ;  as 
Ascutney  emulated  Katahdin,  and  Katahdin  Shasta, 
it  was  an  unspoken  creed,  I  think,  at  the  remoter 
end  of  the  social  order,  that  those  high  and  ineffable 
existences  did  simply  "  emulate  the  angel  choir,  and 
only  live  to  love  and  praise." 

And  why  not  emulate  up  and  up,  until  one 
reaches  the  angels?  The  principle  is  good,  —  is 
Bible  doctrine  and  inspiration ;  but  possibly  the 
grandest  principle  may,  in  practical  and  partial 
application,  get  turned  inside  out.  Perhaps  what 
they  did  on  Ascutney  Street  was  to  mistake  the 
outside  for  the  in.  Or,  the  links  all  there,  and  the 
line  of  progression  plain,  perhaps  there  befell  an 
inevitable  catastrophe  of  too  conscious  evolution ; 
the  tadpoles  being  in  a  hurry,  and  pulling  off  their 
own  tails  before  they  had  done  with  them. 

Only  one  or  two  ladies  on  Ascutney  Street  had 
two  servants ;  only  three  or  four  more  "  kept  a 
girl "  at  all.  The  rest  did  their  own  housework, 
with  help  hired  in,  and  with  a  reticent  dignity, 
nobly  superior  to  any  circumstance  involved,  except 
the  carefully  guarded  contingency  of  being  caught 
at  it.  The  devices  for  escaping  this  were  individual 
and  original,  —  I  may  add  transparent ;  if  they  had 
not  been,  there  would  not  have  been  so  many  sepa- 


4  ASCUTNEY  STREET. 

rate  inventions  diligently  sought  out.  Each  one 
knew  perfectly  well  her  neighbors'  ways,  in  certain 
things;  each,  nevertheless,  fondly  imagined  that 
her  own  brighter  contrivance  was  her  own  secret. 
To  do  them  justice,  the  credit  of  the  whole  street 
was  so  much  at  every  heart  that  they  would  not 
have  found  each  other  out,  —  out  loud,  —  if  they 
could. 

Mrs.  Hilum  had  it  all  to  herself,  the  getting  up 
before  sunrise,  and  washing  the  insides  of  her  parlor 
windows  before  the  break  of  day.  Mrs.  Inching 
had  a  costume,  in  which  her  own  baby  would  not 
have  cried  for  her,  under  whose  disguise  she  boldly 
went  forth  of  a  Saturday  forenoon  and  not  only 
washed  the  outsides  of  hers,  but  cleaned  off  the 
piazza  floor  afterward  with  broom  and  scrubbing 
pail.  And  Miss  Rebecca  Rickstack,  who  lived  all 
alone  in  serenest  neatness  and  comfort  in  the  little 
brown  and  primrose  cottage  on  the  corner  of  Thorn 
Lane,  and  whom  the  good  managing  sense  of  the 
ambitious  community  would  hardly  have  justified 
if  she  had  kept  a  girl,  —  even  Miss  Rickstack  made 
her  one  little  dodge  by  choosing  moonless  evenings 
to  shake  her  rugs  and  doormats  out  on  her  back 
grass-plot,  instead  of  otherwise  breaking  into  an 
extra  hour  of  counted  service  reckoned  at  the 
quarter  cent  a  minute.  Nobody  ever  saw  the  rugs 
shaken ;  the  inference  was  plain ;  but  if  Ascutney 


ASCUTNEY  STREET.  5 

Street  folks  drew  inferences,  they  drew  them  for 
the  most  part  silently,  and  stopped  short  of 
references. 

Half  a  dozen  housewives  economized  by  sending 
out  the  real  chorewoman  to  perform  these  obvious 
labors,  while  in  the  inner  sanctity  they  ironed  the 
clothes  which  the  hireling  had  washed  the  day  be 
fore,  and  hung  out  in  the  sight  of  the  neighborhood. 
To  put  the  proper  Ascutney  Street  face  upon  things 
was  the  one  thing  required  by  public  opinion ;  the 
only  unpardonable  sin  would  have  been  to  com 
promise  the  common  self-respect  by  departing 
openly  from  the  prescribed  lines.  If  there  were 
not  a  cook  and  waitress  in  every  house,  matters  had 
merely  to  go  on  as  if  there  were,  without  confession 
or  exposure,  and  the  status  was  maintained. 

Ascutney  Street  was  embarrassed  in  two  points 
by  this  tacit  observance  :  one  fertile  subject  of  con 
versation  was  limited,  and  the  "  answering  "  of  bells 
became  a  problem. 

Always  to  go  to  one's  own  door  was  too  patent ; 
it  was  alsj}  very  often  inconvenient,  or  even  im 
practicable.  Two  elegant  customs  were  adopted  in 
general  avoidance  of  this  dilemma. 

Ascutney  Street  folks  had  "  afternoons."  They 
divided  a  fortnight  amongst  them,  and  each  lady 
received  once  in  the  two  weeks.  And  for  between 
times,  —  somebody  had  found  out  that  on  Katahdhi 


6  ASCUTNEY  STREET, 

Street,  where  there  was  much  social  running  across 
lawns  and  impromptu  dropping  in,  a  ribbon  was 
tied  around  a  doorbell  in  sign  of  absence  or  inevit 
able  engagement.  So  it  soon  came  to  pass  that 
here,  through  the  busy  hours  of  every  day,  there 
was  a  delicate  fluttering,  as  of  poised  butterflies,  of 
violet,  crimson,  blue,  and  yellow  knots,  in  varying 
shades,  all  along  from  porch  to  porch ;  and  when 
these  were  withdrawn,  the  hostesses  were  apt  to  be 
seated  in  their  front  windows,  with  their  afghan- 
work  or  their  more  delicate  sewing,  or  even  with 
some  new  book  that  was  being  so  talked  and  printed 
and  preached  about  that  it  was  equivalent  to  not 
understanding  the  American  language  not  to  have 
read  it,  —  and  thus  they  were  prepared  to  meet,  at 
the  entrance,  with  cordial  alacrity,  any  visitor  who 
might  approach. 

The  beauty  of  this  system  of  signals  was  not  only 
its  refinement,  but  its  sincerity ;  they  told  no  lies, 
yet  they  offended  no  one  ;  they  were  daintily  polite. 

Ascutney  Street  certainly  gained  by  its  two  em 
barrassments  ;  it  reached  at  least  two  points  of  a 
true  high-breeding :  it  dropped  the  servant-topic 
out  of  its  talk,  and  it  took  up  a  graceful  social 
veracity. 

There  is  no  endeavor  at  ascent,  at  whatever  low 
incline  of  angle,  that  does  not  lift  a  little  in  the 
perpendicular.  Ascutney  Street  had  learned  a 


ASCUTNEY  STREET.  1 

primer  lesson ;  it  invaded  no  one's  business,  so  far 
as  private  and  unseen  domestic  arrangements  were 
concerned ;  when  it  came  to  obvious  facts  and  out 
ward  conformities  to  a  severe  local  standard,  it 
discussed  these  with  the  cruelties  of  self-defense 
that  can  risk  no  mistake  of  mercy. 

Yet  even  these  severities  were  a  training ;  per 
haps  we  can  see  how  the  world  at  large  has  come 
up,  through  some  such  stages,  to  the  perception  and 
claim  of  a  more  interior  elevation  ;  to  the  sense  that 
at  least  there  should  be  no  "  bad  form  "  of  habit 
or  intercourse  incongruous  with  the  high  character- 
tone  to  which  u  noblesse  oblige."  The  forces  of 
the  kingdom  of  heaven  bend  even  our  earthliness 

O 

toward  itself. 

The  mere  adoption  of  that  word  "  form  "  shows 
much.  It  is  an  acknowledgment  that  act  and 
conversation  are  but  exponents  of  the  hidden  and 
only  essential  reality. 

But  I  have  a  scrap  of  story  to  tell,  and  it  is  time 
I  had  fairly  begun  it. 

Jane  Gregory  had  a  scrap  of  a  story;  a  very 
scrap ;  the  most  inconsequent  trifle.  And  yet  it 
was  a  first  page,  —  hardly  that,  even,  —  a  broken 
sentence,  —  of  something  that  might  —  with  some 
other  girl,  —  in  a  book,  for  instance,  —  have  had  a 
captivating  middle  and  a  lovely  end.  Jane  sat  and 
conned  it  over,  —  this  little  "  to  be  continued  ; "  —  in 


8  ASCUTNEY  STREET. 

an  innocent  way,  half-conscious  that  she  did  so,  in 
quiet,  lonely  intervals  that  came  to  her  often,  over 
her  monotonous  work  or  in  her  even  more  monot 
onous  resting  times. 

Jane  Gregory  was  a  seamstress.  She  went  out 
at  a  dollar  and  a  quarter  a  day.  She  felt  she  must 
insist  on  that  quarter,  for  her  room,  with  the  partial 
or  occasional  board  required,  cost  her  four  and  a 
half  a  week.  Out  of  the  rest  had  to  come  her 
clothes,  her  car-fares,  and  her  coal  and  kerosene. 

Jane  Gregory  was  as  pretty  as  it  is  at  all  judicious 
or  even  comfortable  for  a  poor,  unsheltered  little 
seamstress  to  be.  She  knew  that  beauty  was  a 
snare  ;  she  had  experienced  that  it  was  sometimes 
an  embarrassment ;  she  knew  also  that  beauty  was 
as  grass,  —  that  it  could  not  last  long,  especially 
with  a  hard-worked,  hurried  little  sewing-woman, 
always  anxious  about  darts,  and  arms'  eyes,  and 
drapes.  Yet  it  was  a  great  comfort  to  her  just  to 
be  pretty ;  to  have  that  much  of  the  joy  and  glory 
of  a  living  thing ;  to  possess,  in  her  very  own  self, 
that  much  of  the  inheritance  of  the  earth,  of  which 
else  she  had  so  very  little.  And  as  to  the  grass- 
iness  and  fadiness,  —  well,  she  remembered  the 
verse  about  "  so  clothing  the  grass  of  the  field,"  and 
thought,  in  her  simple  sort  of  interpretation,  that 
if  God  did  that,  He  would  so  much  more  do  the 
better  other ;  He  would  so  much  more,  somehow, 


ASCUTNEY  STREET.  9 

clothe  that  real,  waiting,  wanting  life  of  hers.  The 
grass  withered,  the  flower  faded ;  but  the  "  word," 
—  what  was  that  but  the  intent  and  promise  under 
the  making  of  the  grass  and  flower  ?  —  that  should 
be  kept  forever.  She  did  not  exactly  preach  it  out, 
but  the  texts  came  to  her ;  she  caught  a  glimpse 
through  them,  and  she  kept  on  with  her  cheerful, 
small,  vague  expectancy. 

And  she  treasured  up  her  one  morsel  of  adven 
ture  ;  a  thing  that  had  happened  to  her  one  day, 
that  brought  to  her  a  momentary  share  in  something 
she  had  seen  making  the  daily  life  and  common 
place  of  girls  more  fortunate.  It  was  a  deferent 
little  service,  rendered  to  her  with  a  pleasure  of 
rendering  evidenced  even  through  the  restraint  of 
well-bred  strangerhood ;  a  restraint  that  was  of 
itself  the  finer  compliment. 

The  occasion  was  a  troublesome  little  accident ; 
but  it  had  put  her,  for  the  brief  while,  in  the  dignity 
and  privilege  of  her  womanhood.  She  had  been 
gently  cared  for  by  a  gentle  man.  I  like  to  separate 
those  two  words ;  they  are  so  commonly  run  to 
gether,  to  the  annihilation  of  their  meaning. 

It  was  on  the  train ;  she  was  going  from  Wing 
Street  station  down  to  Briarwood,  for  a  day's  work. 
There  were  a  good  many  persons  getting  on  ;  some 
slow,  old  people,  and  some  women  with  children ; 
besides  those  individuals  who  are  on  every  train, 


10  ASCUTNEY  STREET. 

who  do  not  know  which  car  they  wish  to  get  into, 
and  who  block  the  platforms.  Jane  let  them  all 
have  way,  and  came  up  the  last ;  she  was  scarcely 
inside  the  door  when  the  train  started.  At  the 
same  moment,  some  one  just  before  her  stepped 
backward  again  and  crowded  her.  She  held  by  the 
rail,  and  the  brakeman  shouted  a  warning ;  the  un 
decided  passenger  went  forward,  and  the  danger 
was  over ;  but  a  sudden  whirl  of  wind  —  it  was  a 
gusty  day  —  seized  Jane's  hat,  and  carried  it  back, 
past  the  line  of  moving  carriages,  quite  out  of  sight 
and  beyond  rescue.  They  were  gaining  headway, 
and  there  was  nothing  to  be  done ;  even  the  brake- 
man  had  not  seen,  for  he  had  already  turned  his 
back,  holding  his  own  hat  on,  to  close  the  door  of 
the  opposite  car.  Another  person,  however,  seated 
just  inside  that  opposite  door,  had  noted  the  mis 
hap,  and  the  swift  consternation  that  flashed  over 
the  sweet,  unshielded  face. 

Jane  Gregory  slipped  into  the  first  seat,  —  the 
one  in  the  corner,  behind  everybody.  She  untied 
a  little  scarf  from  her  throat  and  put  it  over  her 
head,  knotting  it  under  her  chin.  The  young  man 
opposite  soliloquized  silently. 

"  Some  women  would  have  jumped  off,  —  or  tried 
to  ;  nine  in  ten  would  have  screamed  out ;  almost 
any  pretty  girl  like  her  would  have  shown  some 
mixed  consciousness,  of  annoyance  or  adventure; 


ASCUTNEY  STREET.  11 

would  have  laughed,  have  blushed,  have  been  ex 
cited.  She  is  simply  troubled  ;  and  she  behaves  so 
that  not  three  people  know." 

He  came  to  the  conclusion  that  only  two  persons 
knew ;  then  he  wondered  what  she  would  do ;  then 
it  occurred  to  him  to  do  it  himself.  While  this  brief 
process  of  thought  occupied  his  mind,  he  continued, 
without  staring,  to  read  the  charming  features,  the 
modest  attitude,  absolutely  quiet.  Then  he  drew 
forth  a  notecase,  and  took  from  that  a  slip  of  paper ; 
it  had  an  "  I$7  "  in  the  corner*  He  wrote  a  couple 
of  lines  rapidly,  turned,  and  glanced  down  the  car. 
The  conductor  had  advanced  halfway,  collecting 
tickets.  He  went  to  him  and  handed  him  what  he 
had  written. 

"  Send  this  back  to  Wing  Street  from  the  next 
station,  will  you  ? "  he  asked,  and  tendered  also  a 
coin  with  the  message. 

The  conductor  read  the  slip  and  put  back  the 
money.  "  That 's  all  right,"  he  said. 

The  message  on  the  recipe  blank  read :  "  Lady's 
hat  blown  off  train  at  Wing  Street ;  send  in  by  next 
to  parcel-room  in  town." 

Still,  —  what  would  she  do  ?  She  might  say  noth 
ing,  but  leave  the  train  herself  at  the  next  station. 
She  might  not  have  been  proceeding  all  the  way  to 
town.  As  he  reached  his  forward  seat  again,  he 
thought  this ;  he  gave  another  glance  across  at  the 


12  ASCUTNEY  STREET. 

quiet  head,  the  figure  as  reposeful  as  if  nothing  un 
usual  suggested  a  restlessness,  the  face  thoughtful 
as  with  some  uncertain  consideration.  They  were 
slowing  up  now;  as  the  brakeman  chanted  out 
"  Pi-e-n'Avenoo  !  "  the  doctor  passed  him  and  en 
tered  the  next  car  before  the  movement  of  pas 
sengers  prevented.  He  shielded  Jane,  holding  her 
self  so  still  there  in  the  corner,  her  slightly  covered 
head  turned  away  from  the  few  approaching  faces ; 
he  stood  before  her,  his  own  hat  in  his  hand. 

"  I  beg  pardon,"  he  said  ;  "  but  there  has  been  a 
dispatch  sent  back  for  the  lost  hat ;  it  will  be  at  the 
station  in  town  within  ten  minutes  of  our  arrival. 
If  you  will  keep  your  seat,  —  or  step  into  the 
inward  baggage-room,  —  it  will  be  attended  to  im 
mediately." 

Jane  Gregory  looked  up  at  him  with  a  quick 
flush,  but  the  least  movement  possible.  It  was  only 
that  lifting  of  the  head,  that  upraising  of  the  eye 
lids,  the  showing  of  a  relief  and  thankfulness  in  the 
relaxation  of  little  muscles  that  let  go  the  expression 
of  anxiety. 

"  I  thank  you  very  much,"  she  said  simply. 

"  Where  did  the  girl  learn  it  all  ?  "  he  wondered. 
The  very  freshness  and  genuineness  of  her  intona 
tion  —  every  clear  syllable  uttered  as  if  she  meant 
just  that  and  all  of  it  —  was  not  like  the  usedness  of 
the  favored  class  of  women,  whose  self-possession  was 


ASCUTNEY  STREET.  13 

the  careless  certainty  of  attention,  whose  thanks 
were  mechanically  interjectional.  Yet  the  compo 
sure  was  all  there  ;  not  a  taint  of  common,  underbred 
consciousness ;  she  might  have  been  a  Vere  de  Vere. 
But  she  wore  a  very  plain,  —  yes,  an  old,  dress ;  and 
carried  a  very  ordinary  little  satchel.  Upon  this, 
the  doctor,  as  he  bowed  and  turned  to  leave  her, 
noticed  the  J.  G.  in  indented  letters.  It  gave  him  a 
curious  sensation  ;  a  ridiculous  feeling  of  proprietor 
ship  in  the  little  bag.  The  letters  were  the  begin 
nings  of  his  own  two  names. 

Jane  sat  still;  she  looked  at  no  one,  thereby 
assuming,  with  a  passive  dignity,  that  no  one  looked 
at  her.  If  her  beautiful  hair  had  been  of  a  darker 
tint,  rolled  up,  as  it  was,  and  crowning  her  head 
with  its  twisted  waves,  it  would  have  been  hardly 
observable,  perhaps,  that  she  was  unbonneted ;  but 
the  fair  shining  of  the  soft  blonde  coils  gave  no 
evasion  of  indiscriminateness  ;  it  was  uncompromis 
ing  in  its  contrast  with  the  bit  of  dark  blue  silk. 

She  would  be  late  for  her  day ;  she  would  have 
to  take  off  the  extra  quarter ;  there  would  be  her 
added  fare  to  town,  —  one  of  her  trip  coupons  must 
be  given  now,  instead  of  her  way  ticket ;  and  there 
would  be  another  eight  cents  back  again  to  Briar- 
wood. 

Those  were  the  things  she  thought  of  while  she 
took  it  all  so  staidly,  and  made  no  sign.  But  her 


14  ASCUTNEY  STREET. 

hat  would  not  be  lost,  and  it  was  almost  a  new  one ; 
and  she  would  not  even  have  to  walk,  bareheaded 
or  nearly  so,  up  the  long  train-house  to  the  waiting- 
room,  with  the  crowd. 

Her  thought  came  back  with  that  to  the  kind 
ness  which  had  cared  for  her.  If  it  had  been  given 
by  an  old  lady,  she  would  have  felt  warm,  grateful. 
Who  can  blame  her,  if  her  pulse  were  a  little 
quicker  with  her  gratitude,  because  it  was  the  chiv 
alrous  service  to  a  woman  from  a  man?  It  was 
something  that  she  had  a  woman's  right  to,  in  the 
world ;  that  in  her  world,  was  not  apt,  in  just  such 
beautiful  sort,  to  come  to  her. 

When,  some  five  and  twenty  minutes  after,  wait 
ing  at  the  far  end  of  the  great  station-house,  —  the 
car  she  had  left  already  filling  with  an  outward 
bound  company,  —  she  saw  coming  rapidly  down  the 
platform  the  same  fine,  well-carried  figure,  the  same 
pleasant,  handsome  face  looking  at  her  as  it  ap 
proached  with  a  friendly,  not  intrusive  recognition, 
and  perceived  the  somewhat  clumsily  pinned  paper 
parcel  which  her  fellow-passenger  was  bringing  her 
with  as  easy  and  graceful  handling  as  if  it  had 
been  a  daintily  wrapped  bunch  of  flowers,  she  cer 
tainly  did  experience  a  sudden  tingle  of  exhilarant 
surprise. 

"  He  is  coming  back  with  it  himself !  He  might 
have  given  it  to  a  brakeman,  or  anybody !  " 


ASCUTNEY  STREET.  15 

She  could  not  help  being  pleased, —  glad;  she 
who  was  only  little  Jane  Gregory,  going  out  to  sew 
for  the  day.  She  had  never  been  so  attended  to 
before.  But  there  was  no  ordinary,  silly,  visible 
elation ;  she  was  as  composedly  modest  as  before ; 
her  eyes  were  almost  pathetic  as  they  lighted  up 
again  so  softly  with  the  touch  of  happiness  in  the 
courtesy  that  had  come  to  her,  and  she  said  again, 
with  that  gentle,  even  emphasis,  "I  thank  you, 
very  much." 

Dr.  J.  G.  (we  will  be  content  for  the  present 
with  knowing  only  as  much  of  his  personality  as  he 
knew  of  Jane's)  received  her  thanks  with  a  smile ;  he 
answered  them  with  "No  need;  it  was  no  trouble." 
Then  he  lifted  his  hat,  with  perhaps  a  half  second's 
lingering  in  his  parting  glance  at  her  face  that  it 
was  certainly — "  no  trouble" — to  look  at,  and 
departed. 

Three  steps  down  the  platform  some  one,  about 
entering  the  waiting  train,  recognized  and  accosted 
him.  "How  are  you,  Doctor?"  and  "How  are 
you,  Drummond  ?  "  were  the  words  exchanged ;  and 
then  one  sprang  upon  the  car,  and  the  other  con 
tinued  swiftly  on  through  the  long  house. 

Jane  Gregory  adjusted  her  hat,  and  came  slowly 
after.  "  Doctor !  "  she  said  over  to  herself ;  still 
following  afar  off  with  her  eyes  the  figure  that  was 
gaining  distance  so  fast  and  disappearing  among 


16  ASCUTNEY  STREET. 

the  moving  groups  and  streams  of  people  near  the 
gates,  —  disappearing  into  the  great  mass  and  other 
ness  of  human  life,  a  whole  worldful  with  which 
she  had  nothing  to  do,  after  just  that  instant's  co 
incidence  of  the  line  of  his  path  with  hers.  How 
queer  living  was ;  how  much  there  was  of  some 
parts  of  it,  —  what  mere  points  and  breaths  of 
others ! 

"  Doctor !  "  said  Jane  Gregory  to  herself.  "  I 
wish  he  had  just  said  Doctor  who !  "  and  then  she 
laughed  a  quick  small  catch  of  a  laugh,  and  blushed 
a  tiny  blush  of  which  she  was  not  at  all  conscious, 
and  moved  more  rapidly  herself  to  get  down  and 
around  to  the  far  opposite  track  where  the  next 
train  stopping  at  Briarwood  would  be. 

Jane  Gregory's  work  went  well  that  day;  and 
she  was  so  apt  and  cheery  with  it,  and  so  nimble- 
fingered  and  sure  with  her  fittings,  and  wore  alto 
gether  such  a  contagious,  happy  content,  that  at 
night  when  she  shyly  said  to  her  employer  that  she 
"  had  been  so  late  in  coming  that  she  must  not  take 
the  quarter,"  the  lady  answered,  "  Nonsense,  child ! 
you  've  done  a  full  day's  work ;  I'm  satisfied,"  and 
doubled  up  the  dollar  bill  about  the  piece  of  silver, 
and  pushed  it  kindly  into  her  hand.  Mrs.  Scorrell 
was  not  apt  to  pay  beyond  the  bargain  or  the  due, 
either. 

That  had  been  two  years,  or  even  more,  ago ;  all 


ASCUTNEY  STREET.  17 

that  time  the  whirl  and  churning  of  the  world's 
great  change  and  mingling  had  gone  on,  in  which 
her  little  shred  of  circumstance  had  vanished  ;  but 
it  was  Jane's  scrap  of  story  still ;  it  came  back  to 
her  with  its  pleasantness  of  something  that  belonged 
to  her,  —  its  reminder  of  unlikeliness  that  was  yet 
always  possible,  —  its  curious  assurance  that  every 
fragment  argued  a  remaining  part  somewhere,  and 
that  no  bit  of  anything  ever  came  into  knowledge 
or  experience  that  sooner  or  later  did  not  bring 
a  sequel  of  itself  or  something  to  which  it  was  akin. 
At  the  same  time,  these  were  feelings,  not  rea 
sonings,  with  her ;  they  took  no  slightest  shape  of 
positive  expectation.  She  was  not  weaving  a  ro 
mance  about  her  incident ;  it  only  remained  with 
her  by  the  force  of  its  kindly  significance.  It  was 
the  breath  of  an  atmosphere,  —  it  drifted  to  her  as 
the  airs  did  to  the  sailor  across  the  long  waters, 
from  a  beautiful  world  he  should  find  more  of,  by 
and  by. 


CHAPTER  II. 

AND  now  she  was  here  in  Ascutney  Street ;  stay 
ing  at  Mrs.  Turnbull's  ;  doing  a  little  work  for  her ; 
taking  in  a  little  from  other  people  ;  resting  a  good 
deal,  —  which  she  needed  more  than  she  wanted,  — 
it  being  the  dull  time ;  and  she  was  paying  three 
dollars  a  week  for  her  board. 

Mrs.  Turnbull  had  employed  her  for  a  year  or 
two  ;  and  made  a  "  find  "  of  her.  Mrs.  Turnbull 
had  a  way  of  discovering  these  work  -  nuggets  ; 
people  of  this  sort  before  they  had  "  got  up  in  their 
prices  ; "  and  securing  good  service  from  them  while 
they  remained  comparatively  unknown,  and  work 
ing,  as  she  called  it,  "  reasonably."  To  work  rea 
sonably,  meaning  always,  with  a  certain  class 
of  persons,  by  a  curious  inversion,  accepting  an 
irrationally  small  equivalent  for  toil. 

Mrs.  Turnbull  did  not  share  her  advantage  with 
her  immediate  neighbors,  for  reasons ;  but  she  did 
put  Jane  in  the  way  of  other  work  at  discreet  dis 
tances.  So  Jane  was  grateful,  and  always  ready 
to  come  to  Mrs.  Turnbull  on  an  emergency,  and 
between  times. 


ASCUTNEY  STREET.  19 

It  had  been  a  sudden  inspiration  on  the  lady's 
part,  this  present  arrangement  of  making  the  girl 
an  inmate.  Jane  had  found  it  hard  to  pay  four 
dollars  and  a  half  a  week,  especially  in  vacation 
times ;  she  had  no  friends  to  visit,  and  of  course 
little  journeys  or  excursions  were  out  of  the  ques 
tion.  She  had  to  just  weary  on,  in  the  stuffy  little 
house  in  a  crowded  neighborhood,  on  a  low,  wet 
street  where  there  was  almost  always  a  good  deal  of 
illness;  and  to  go  back  in  the  fall,  pale  and  un- 
refreshed,  to  her  stitching  and  draping  for  women 
and  girls  brown  and  ruddy  and  shining-eyed  from 
mountain  or  sea  air,  and  good  times  that  she  could 
only  distantly  imagine. 

One  day  she  had  happened  to  say  something  of 
this  to  Mrs.  Turnbull ;  contrasting  the  nice  tea  she 
was  taking  with  her,  —  for  Mrs.  Turnbull  did  not 
grudge  a  little  extended  hospitality  like  this  when 
she  was  otherwise  alone,  and  in  good  humor  with 
her  plaitings  and  panels,  —  with  the  poor  fare  she 
had  to  put  up  with  at  her  lodging-house. 

"  You  can't  think  what  a  treat  such  biscuits  are !  " 
she  said. 

Mrs.  Turnbull  knew  that  her  biscuits  were  a 
treat  to  almost  anybody.  But  she  enjoyed  being 
told  of  it,  as  much  as  if  she  had  needed  the 
assurance. 

That  night  it  all  came  into  her  head,  while  she 


20  ASCUTNEY  STREET. 

was  undressing.     "  I  don't  see  the  reason  why  not !  " 
she  exclaimed  aloud. 

"  Nor  I,"  rejoined  her  husband,  untying  his  cravat. 
"What  is  it?" 

That  was  the  way  fresh  subjects  were  usually 
started  between  them.  Mrs.  Turnbtill  began  in  the 
middle,  like  a  modern  novel ;  Mr.  Turnbull  took 
her  up  like  a  seasoned  reader,  sure  that  the  recapit 
ulation  and  elucidation  would  be  immediately  forth 
coming  ;  well,  if,  when  once  begun,  they  were  not 
altogether  too  exhaustive. 

"  Only  —  I  don't  know  what  Ascutney  Street 
folks  would  say  !  "  continued  the  lady. 

"  Why  should  they  say  anything  at  all  ?  "  sug 
gested  the  gentleman. 

"  I  don't  know  —  as  they  need ;  if  I  could  only 
fix  it  so  !  " 

"  Fix  it  as  you  're  fixing  it  now,  and  you  '11  do," 
said  Mr.  Turnbull. 

"  Oh  pshaw !  "  exclaimed  his  wife  impatiently  ; 
and  then  broke  into  full  tide  of  explanatory  state 
ment,  at  the  end  of  which  Mr.  Turnbull  did  not 
see  much  of  either  why  or  why  not.  If  it  suited 
his  wife,  however,  all  right. 

"But  you  don't  take  it  in  !  "  cried  she.  "  Can't 
you  understand  ?  It  will  be  as  good  as  a  girl  —  all 
I  want  of  a  girl ;  —  and  she  '11  pay  me  three  dollars 
a  week,  instead  of  I  her ;  and  she  '11  be  good  com- 


ASCUTNEY  STREET.  21 

pany,  for  Jane  is  nice  and  bright,  and  picks  up  as 
she  goes  along ;  and  there  won't  be  things  broken, 
nor  given  away  out  at  the  back  door ;  and  she  7£  be 
sights  better  off!" 

That  was  how  Jane  Gregory  came  to  board  with 
Mrs.  Turnbull,  and  saved  a  dollar  and  a  half  a 
week,  and  had  a  nice  room  with  a  sunshiny  window, 
and  a  flounced  dressing-table,  and  pure  air  and 
good  food,  and  was  only  too  glad  to  "  set  an  odd 
stitch,"  or  "  give  a  hand  "  at  wiping  dishes,  to  make 
up  the  difference. 

There  had  only  been  one  other  condition,  —  a 
little  peculiar,  but  not  much  to  care  for  after  all. 
"It  wouldn't  ever  do,"  Mrs.  Turnbull  had  said 
with  frankness,  "to  have  Ascutney  Street  folks 
know.  We  might  as  well  give  up  our  lease  at  once. 
It 's  nobody's  business  but  yours  and  mine,  and  we 
must  keep  it  to  ourselves.  It  won't  make  any  real 
difference  to  you,  you  see ;  Ascutney  Street  folks 
would  n't  come  to  see  me  if  I  kept  a  boarder ;  and 
they  would  n't  come  to  see  you  if  I  said  you  were  a 
seamstress.  So  you  would  n't  get  acquainted  any 
way.  I  thought  I  'd  better  say  it  right  out  to  begin 
with.  And  I  don't  suppose  you  got  acquainted 
down  in  Bogley  Street." 

Of  course  Jane  did  n't ;  the  reticence  was  on  her 
own  side,  there.  And  here,  —  why,  with  the  sweet, 
clean  room  and  pretty  house,  the  piazza  and  the 


22  ASCUTNEY  STREET. 

garden,  the  smell  and  color  of  the  blossoming 
flower-plots  right  under  her  window,  and  the  shady 
larch-tree  in  the  garden,  and  the  elm  on  the  side 
walk,  with  the  oriole's  nest  swinging  at  the  tip  of 
the  highest  branch,  that  seemed  to  take  her  right 
up  into  sky  and  air,  herself,  as  she  looked  at  it,  and 
found  out  by  sympathy  the  oriole  part  of  her  own 
nature,  —  with  all  these,  what  did  she  care  for 
"folks"? 

Does  it  strike  you  how  lonely  a  girl  must  be, 
before  she  can  come  not  to  care  for  folks  ? 

Jane  Gregory  was  a  very  well  brought  up  young 
person.  That  was  what  Mrs.  Turnbull  had  said  to 
her  husband  when  she  had  backed  up  to  her  real 
starting-point  in  her  conversation  with  that  gentle 
man,  and  confided  to  him  in  detail  what  she  had  in 
mind;  or,  in  more  applicable  common  parlance, 
what  she  had  taken  into  her  head. 

"She  knows  her  place;  she  won't  put  herself 
forward ;  she  '11  keep  to  herself,"  she  said.  Which 
meant  that  the  young  person  knew  she  hadn't 
any  place,  and  would  n't  try  to  take  it ;  she  could 
be  let  alone  as  much  as  the  people  in  the  places 
pleased. 

In  essential  truth,  Jane  Gregory  had  not  been 
brought  up  at  all.  She  had  been  let  grow  up ;  and 
she  had  had  certain  care  taken  of  her  growing ;  but 
the  bringing,  —  the  tender  leading,  the  going  before 


ASCUTNEY  STREET.  23 

and  drawing  after,  by  nearness  and  by  love,  had 
not  been  hers. 

She  just  remembered  losing  a  father  and  a 
mother.  She  could  recall  very  little  of  having  an 
uncle,  who  was  a  coal  merchant  in  an  inland  town, 
who  took  her  home,  gave  her  a  place  at  his  table, 
and  sent  her  to  school.  She  should  have  a  good 
education,  he  said ;  after  that  she  must  take  care 
of  herself.  He  had  a  good  many  of  his  own  to 
provide  for.  Ownness  does  not  reach  so  far  upon 
this  little  globe,  where  one  would  think  it  might 
almost  all  be  kith  and  kin,  as  in  the  great  kingdom 
of  heaven. 

Jane  came  to  girlhood  and  womanhood,  a  well 
instructed,  well  repressed  "  young  person ; "  she  was 
not  anybody's  daughter  or  sister  or  intimate  friend. 
She  had  been  put  in  her  no-particular  place,  and 
she  had  kept  it.  What  a  wonder  it  is  that  people 
do  so  meekly  accept  their  denials,  and  that  so  few 
seize  by  force  or  audacity  their  loaf  of  bread ! 

When  Jane  came  to  the  time  —  the  "  after  that " 
—  in  which  she  was  to  take  care  of  herself,  she  tried 
at  first  to  teach ;  but  she  had  headaches,  schoolroom 
and  anxious  headaches,  from  bad  air  and  stupidity 
and  strict  requirements  ;  and  then  she  took  to  her 
needle,  which  was  quiet  and  perfectly  under  her 
own  control,  and  rendered  her  accountable  to  only 
one  person  at  a  time,  instead  of  to  a  lot  of  contra- 


24  ASCUTNEY  STREET. 

dictory  parents,  or  a  school  committee.  And  up 
the  line  of  railroad,  from  Brankton  to  the  great 
city,  she  had  drifted  from  neighborhood  to  neighbor 
hood,  as  people  learned  of  her,  and  found  her  deft 
and  "reasonable,"  until  now  she  had  been  three 
years  in  the  large  town  which  included  Wellswood. 

In  the  mean  time  her  uncle  at  Brankton  had  died, 
and  left  five  hundred  dollars  in  his  will  to  Jane, 
which  she  had  put  away  in  a  savings  bank  and 
out  of  her  mind,  as  something  not  to  be  touched 
or  thought  of,  until  she  should  be  in  sickness  and 
need,  or  until  —  any  wonderful,  impossible  contin 
gency  should  arise  for  which  she  should  have  to 
buy  more  gowns  than  she  had  use  for  now,  and 
other  things  for  which  she  had  now  no  earthly  use 
whatever. 

44  And  about  your  own  acquaintances  ?  How  will 
that  be  ?  "  Mrs.  Turnbull  had  inquired  of  her. 

44  You  mean  people  coming  ?  Oh,  there  may  be 
messages  and  errands ;  but "  —  and  Jane  laughed 
an  odd  little  laugh  —  4<  I  have  n't  any  acquaint 
ances.  Only  « aware-ances.'  I  haven't  anything 
own  in  the  world." 

A  girl  right  in  the  midst  of  things,  making  home 
and  street  and  visiting  dresses  for  other  girls,  and 
no  part  in  anything  herself!  For  a  minute,  the 
hardness  of  it  came  to  Mrs.  Turnbull's  heart ;  but 
it  was  only  an  added  strength  to  the  argument  for 


ASCUTNEY  STREET.  25 

that  which  she  had  taken  into  her  head,  and  it 
never  occurred  to  her  that  she  could  do  anything 
more  about  it.  If  it  were  all  the  more  convenient 
for  her  that  Jane  should  have  no  visitors  complicat 
ing  with  her  own,  the  fact  had  not  been  of  her 
ordering.  She  simply  availed  herself  of  it ;  and 
Jane  had  come. 

Now  Jane,  all  by  herself  as  she  was,  and  because 
of  being  so,  had  a  certain  little  thread  of  humor 
running  through  her  quieted  nature,  that  saved  her 
from  many  a  bitterness,  hurt,  and  resentment.  It 
was  so  funny,  the  way  in  which  she  was  kept  out 
of  what  she  had  n't  the  least  desire  to  be  in,  —  the 
way  she  was  guarded  from  an  observation  she  could 
not  have  supposed  herself  liable  to,  —  among  these 
Ascutney  Street  folks.  She  never  sat  in  the  par 
lor  :  Mrs.  Turnbull  never  asked  her  to  do  so,  though 
she  often  called  her  into  her  own  room  upstairs, 
and  had  her  there  by  the  day  together,  when  there 
was  dressmaking  going  on.  She  never  sat  on  the 
piazza  of  an  evening :  "  Mr.  Turnbull's  friends  were 
apt  to  drop  in,  and  it  was  awkward."  If  invited 
company  came,  of  course  she  was  behind  the  scenes  : 
often  importantly  so ;  for  it  was  upon  these  occa 
sions  that  Mrs.  Turnbull  made  application  of  the 
proviso  that  she  was  now  and  then  to  "  give  a 
hand."  Well  put,  that,  also  ;  for  it  was  free  giv 
ing,  and  no  lending,  hoping  for  anything  of  special 


26  ASCUTNEY  STREET. 

return  again.  It  was  her  service  that  was  special ; 
the  consideration  for  it  was  a  generality. 

It  was  even  suggested,  as  she  went  and  came 
upon  her  business  errands,  that  the  short  cut  across 
to  Atchell's  Corner  was  a  better  way  for  her  to  meet 
the  cars,  than  to  go  and  stand  at  the  head  of  the 
street ;  there  was  the  druggist's  shop  to  step  into 
and  wait  comfortably;  and  coming  home,  it  was 
nearer  if  she  just  ran  in  at  the  back  door,  which  was 
not  locked,  as  the  front  one  always  was. 

Jane  accepted  it  all,  and  departed  and  arrived 
through  the  kitchen  entrance ;  it  had  quite  the  air 
of  a  servant  being  kept ;  only,  and  fortunately,  lest 
intervals  should  be  observed  too  closely  by  any 
curious  overlooker,  the  short  way  was  so  covered  in 
by  high  fences  and  trees  that  there  was  but  little 
likelihood  of  her  being  noticed  or  exactly  timed. 

Jane  could  play  the  piano  a  little  ;  and  it  would 
have  been  a  pleasure  to  her  to  try  hymns  of  a  Sun 
day,  or  to  run  through  a  simple  old  waltz  when  her 
fingers  were  tired  of  needle  and  scissors,  and  her 
spirits  wanted  some  light  relief.  But  Mrs.  Turn- 
bull  begged  her  not  to  do  it  much  ;  people  would 
wonder  if  they  went  by  ;  she  herself  was  not  musi 
cal,  and  never  attempted  the  little  she  had  learned 
long  ago  ;  the  piano  had  come  to  her  because  it 
was  done  with  elsewhere,  and  she  enjoyed  it,  she 
said,  for  her  friends,  which  meant  "  company." 


ASCUTNEY  STREET.  27 

There  was  only  one  thing  Jane  could  do  with 
her  morsels  of  leisure,  and  only  one  place  for  her 
to  do  it  in,  out  of  her  bedroom.  The  larch-tree  in 
the  back  garden  was  nicely  out  of  the  way ;  and 
when  Mrs.  Turnbull  found  that  Jane  betook  her 
self  to  its  shelter  to  read,  she  had  a  big  old  wooden 
chair  with  a  sloping  foot-rest  brought  down  from 
the  attic,  and  set  there  in  the  evergreen  shade  for 
the  girl  to  "  take  full  comfort  in."  This  also  pre 
cluded  the  carrying  out  of  any  more  modern  piece 
of  furniture,  and  it  established  the  understanding 
that  here  Jane,  with  her  book  and  her  shawl,  was 
to  content  herself.  There  was  only  one  house 
whose  windows  commanded  the  larch-tree,  and  that 
was  occupied  by  a  person  who,  like  Jane  herself, 
had  no  acquaintances,  scarcely  "  aware-ances,"  on 
Ascntney  Street. 

"  I  wonder  why  nobody  seems  to  know  Mrs.  Sun 
der!  and,"  Jane  had  said  to  Mrs.  Turnbull  one  day, 
over  their  sewing* 

"  Well,  that 's  it,';  replied  the  lady.  "  Nobody 
does  know.  She  's  just  Mrs.  Sunderland,  who  took 
the  house  last  spring.  She  's  got  nobody  with  her 
but  an  aunt,  —  that 's  what  the  children  call  her, 
though  whether  she  's  aunt  to  the  mother  or  the 
children,  I  'm  sure  I  can't  guess,  —  and  the  chil 
dren  themselves.  Nobody  even  knows  whether 
she  's  a  widow  or  not.  They  might  like  to  find  out, 


28  ASCUTNEY  STREET. 

if  she  had  any  sort  of  style.  But  she  never  seemed 
like  Ascutney  Street  folks,  and  they  have  n't  taken 
to  her.  She  don't  dress,  and  she  don't  dress  her 
children,  and  her  aunt  does  all  the  work  ;  hangs 
out  the  clothes,  right  in  broad  daylight,  and  washes 
down  the  front  steps,  and  all.  And  the  furniture 
that  went  in  was  as  plain  as  porridge ;  and  nothing 
but  brown  shades  to  the  windows,  —  not  even  a 
lambrequin.  She  's  pretty,  too,  and  a  good  figure  ; 
if  she  'd  only  do  something  like  other  folks,  —  if 
she  'd  just  wear  a  bustle,  't  would  make  a  differ 
ence." 

"  You  mean  people  would  call  upon  her  ?  "  asked 
Jane,  laughing. 

"  Well,  yes  ;  if  she  looked  more  like  it.  But  she 
does  n't  make  any  appearance  at  all." 

"I  suppose  an  appearance  is  necessary  —  in  this 
world,"  said  Jane  thoughtfully.  "  You  could  n't 
know  an  angel,  without.  But  then  —  it  need  n't 
be  a  bustling  and  rustling  one,  I  should  think." 

Jane  gave  a  slight  twirl,  as  she  spoke,  to  the 
wire  dress-form  before  her,  upon  which  was  draped 
the  black  satin  merveilleux  with  loops  and  scarrings 
and  diagonal  sweep  of  apron  front,  stiff  with  shin 
ing  passementerie.  "Soft  clothing,"  she  murmured, 
half  to  herself.  "They  that  wear  soft  clothing 
are  in  kings'  houses.  I  wonder  if  that  may  n't 
mean  something  about  the  real  king's  daughters, 


ASCUTNEY  STREET.  29 

sometimes,  as  well  as  about  people  in  common 
palaces." 

"  Common  palaces  !  What  a  queer  girl  you  are, 
Jane  Gregory  !  "  cried  Mrs.  Turnbull.  "  Yes,  — 
that  hitch  is  better.  Why,  I  like  a  little  rustling ; 
just  a  crisp,  fresh  sort  of  sound,  you  know,  of  a 
nice,  new  thing.  Anybody  likes  to  step  off  with  a 
touch  of  style,  —  especially  in  back  breadths.  As- 
cutney  Street  folks  do  ;  I  won't  deny  it." 

Undeniably,  Ascutney  Street  folks  did ;  they  all 
went  up  the  sidewalk  to  catch  the  cars,  with  an  as 
sertive  consciousness  of  back  breadths.  Ascutney 
Street  style  was  of  the  most  obvious  sort. 

Jane  Gregory  did  not  say  anything  more  about 
it  then  ;  but  she  knew  very  well  that  it  was  the  ob 
viousness  that  was  the  mistake.  She  had  occa 
sional  employment  on  Katahdin  Street,  and  even 
up  on  Shasta;  and  she  could  make  closer  compari 
son  than  Mrs.  Turnbull.  In  a  certain  way,  she 
was  getting  a  nicer  training  and  discrimination 
than  that  ambitious  person  would  ever  have.  Girl 
as  she  was,  and  working  girl,  she  had  found  out 
some  things  that  showed  her  what  the  secret  of 
sham  was.  It  was  not  the  aim  at  something  better 
than  one  has,  —  the  desire  upward  which  takes  for 
pattern  that  shown  in  the  mount,  whatever  the 
mount  or  upper  level  may  be ;  it  was  the  content 
ing  with  the  merely  representative,  behind  which 


30  ASCUTNEY  STREET. 

was  always  something  in  the  higher  place,  that 
these  others  could  not  see,  and  had  nothing  to  do 
with. 

It  occurred  to  Jane's  observation,  for  instance, 
that  when  she  had  helped  to  make  a  dress  of  beau 
tiful  material  and  gracefully  devised  construction 
for  Mrs.  Talthrop,  the  Judge's  wife,  she  herself 
never  saw  or  heard  of  it  again,  after  the  last  stitch 
was  set.  It  passed  to  a  use  quite  within  Mrs.  Tal- 
throp's  common,  public  round;  it  belonged  to  a 
part  of  her  life  that  Ascutney  Street  only  guessed 
at.  But  because  there  was  this  inner,  removed 
something  to  which  the  lovely  apparel  was  ger 
mane  and  fitting,  its  fashion  must  be  reproduced  in 
Ascutney  Street,  with  an  accentuation  of  detail, 
and  put  en  evidence  on  horse-cars. 

If  the  Gransomes,  living  gently  and  delicately 
always,  asked  in  friends  to  a  luncheon,  and  had  it 
served  in  quiet,  elegant  little  separate  courses,  this 
way  of  doing  things  filtered  down  by  report  and 
imitation  —  Jane  herself  was  closely  questioned, 
often  —  through  successive  social  strata,  in  each  of 
which  it  was  a  more  distinct  effort  than  in  the  last, 
until  it  came  to  be  a  stringency  in  every  little 
household  where  it  was  an  anxious,  one-handed 
struggle,  and  needed  days  before  and  after  for 
preparation  and  recovery.  The  seizing  upon  signs 
became  an  utter  degeneration  in  realities.  This 


ASCUTNEY  STREET.  31 

deduction  bore  in  upon  Jane's  mind  as  that  of  the 
principle  of  gravitation  did  upon  Sir  Isaac  New 
ton's.  It  was  the  assertion  of  a  law. 

Discovering  this,  Jane  got  insight  into  deeper 
facts  of  similar  relation  also.  Philanthropy  and 
religion  were  done  up  in  much  the  same  way,  she 
thought,  in  many  places.  It  was  truly  high  and 
fine  to  be  interested  in  the  lower  classes  ;  if  they 
were  only  unmistakably  low  enough.  Jane  won 
dered  sometimes  what  course  all  the  benevolences 
would  take,  if,  suddenly,  the  very  miserably  poor 
and  openly  degraded  should  all  at  once  die  of  their 
poverty  and  despair,  and  be  taken  away  to  heaven, 
—  or  elsewhere,  —  and  nobody  be  left  for  people 
to  be  kind  and  merciful  to  but  other  people  very 
much  like  —  perhaps  intrusively  or  reproachfully 
like  —  themselves.  If  Jane  was  getting  slightly 
cynical,  it  was  because  she  was  such  an  outside 
young  creature ;  only  seeing  things  as  they  showed, 
and  hardly  ever  taken  into  the  heart  of  anything. 
Yet  she  really  had  discovered  a  great  law.  It  is  in 
the  inside  world  that  we  must  live  up  into  the  next 
higher.  Putting  on  expressions  of  it  —  even  in 
beautiful  rites  of  worship  —  does  not  do  the  thing 
at  all. 

Jane  did  not  go  to  church  very  often  ;  she  was 
apt  to  be  too  tired ;  she  was  apt,  also,  not  to  get 
much  good  of  it.  When  she  did  go,  she  puzzled 


32  ASCUTNEY  STREET. 

about  it  in  very  much  the  same  way.  Was  it  be 
cause  the  angels  sing  praises,  that  the  hymns  and 
anthems  were  "rendered"  by  trained  and  culti 
vated  choirs  ?  Was  it  because  before  the  throne 
they  adore  always,  that  the  prayers,  in  such  sub 
limity  of  words,  and  with  so  many  of  them,  went 
up  ?  Were  they  all,  with  their  full  meanings,  in 
all  the  hearts  of  the  great  crowd,  under  their  furs 
and  plushes,  and  their  tailor-made  costumes  ?  The 
fuller  the  ceremonial,  the  smoother  the  recital,  the 
more  she  marveled.  She  could  not  worship  so 
fast,  herself,  —  so  easily.  Had  it  all  been  thought 
and  felt,  in  that  hour  and  a  half,  after  which  the 
multitude  streamed  forth,  fresh  from  their  ascrip 
tions  "  with  all  the  company  of  heaven,"  to  make 
little  social  salutations,  even  exchange  of  worldly 
news  and  comment,  and  go  home  to  dinner-table 
talk  of  weekday  things  ? 

She  supposed  it  was  true  with  some,  or  the  obser 
vance  itself  would  hardly  continue  to  be  ;  but  with 
the  many,  was  it  earth  entering  into  communion 
with  heaven,  or  was  it  a  spiritual  Ascutney  Street 
trying  to  put  on  what  it  supposed  Katahdin  Street 
to  do  ?  Remember  that  in  this,  also,  Jane  Gregory 
was  the  same  little  outside  creature  en  the  Sunday 
that  she  was  from  Monday  morning  to  Saturday 
night.  For  it  had  not  happened  to  her,  yet,  to  be 
taken  by  the  hand  and  drawn  in  toward  the  truest 


ASCUTNEY  STREET.  33 

and  the  best  by  those  who  so  knew  it  that  their  one 
pure  longing  was  to  make  others  know.  This  was 
due,  indeed,  partly  to  her  external  changes  and  un 
certainties,  and  partly  to  her  own  shy,  reticent  un 
willingness  in  her  peculiar  isolation,  to  put  herself 
forward  or  even  to  respond. 

So  Jane's  Sundays,  in  this  pleasant  weather, 
were  mostly  spent  under  the  larch-tree.  She  could 
just  catch  glimpses  of  the  church  costumes  as  they 
shimmered  by  between  the  front  shrubberies  ;  all 
the  puffings  standing  off  well  behind,  and  vibrating 
en  masse  to  the  high-heeled  footsteps  ;  the  ladies 
buttoning  their  fresh  kid  gloves  as  they  passed 
along,  perhaps,  and  then  sticking  the  glove  hook 
into  the  trim  corsage,  behind  the  bunch  of  flowers 
or  the  delicate  embroidered  corners  of  the  handker 
chief  that  peeped  forth  like  spreaded  blossom-pet 
als  in  gay,  soft  colors.  Husbands  with  their  wives, 
sisters  together,  friends  joining  each  other,  chatting 
as  they  went  along.  It  was  what  she  made  clothes 
for,  and  then  stepped,  herself,  aside  from. 

Acquaintances  !  If  she  could  have  chosen  them, 
and  been  really  "  acquaint !  "  For  to  know  people 
would  have  meant  more  to  Jane  than  simply  to 
have  them  to  nod  to  and  speak  with  and  call  upon, 
trying  herself  on  with  them,  as  she  saw  girls  do, 
indifferently,  but  with  a  certain  invariable  effu 
sion,  with  each  other.  To  have  anybody  —  any  one 


34  ASCUTNEY  STREET. 

body —  to  know  well,  and  to  feel  herself  known 
to  !  Jane  turned  to  her  two  books  with  a  sigh. 

One  was  a  story,  the  other  a  little  volume  of 
texts.  "  Crumbs,"  or  "  Broken  Bread,"  or  some 
such.  It  was  an  old  little  book,  and  had  been  her 
mother's.  For  this  she  cared  for  it,  and  kept  it  by 
W,  and  conscientiously  took  its  morsels  as  pre 
pared  quantities  chosen  from  the  great  bewilder 
ment,  to  her,  of  the  whole  Bible,  where  she  hardly 
)rnew  what  to  turn  to.  She  was  familiar,  she 
thought,  with  all  the  history,  old  and  new ;  and  to 
go  over  and  over  it  again,  by  long  chapters,  was 
not  what  Jane  had  learned  to  love,  because,  per 
haps,  the  chapters  did  not  yet  divide  themselves 
/nto  their  clear,  distinct  word-shinings,  or  carry 
through  their  transparencies  the  thread  of  a  uniting 
living  meaning.  She  did  not  care  to  tell  them 
over,  as  mere  beads.  But  the  little  texts  said 
something  straight  to  herself  at  times. 

And  who  shall  say  that  it  was  not  straight  to 
herself  that,  to-day,  —  for  I  am  telling  of  a  par 
ticular  summer  Sunday  morning,  —  the  message 
was  sent,  when  she  read,  close  upon  those  other 
thoughts,  and  that  little  lonely  sigh :  "  Acquaint 
now  thyself  with  Him,  and  be  at  peace  "  ? 

Was  that  possible  ?  To  know  Him,  —  to  under 
stand  Him,  and  be  understood  by  Him,  as  friend 
with  friend? 


ASCUTNEY  STREET.  35 

Another  verse  was  linked  with  it ;  they  stood  in 
pairs :  "  Who  dwelleth  in  the  high  and  holy  place, 
with  him  also  that  is  humble  and  of  a  contrite 
heart,  to  revive  the  spirit  of  the  humble,  and  to 
revive  the  heart  of  the  contrite  ones." 

She  wondered  what  "  contrite "  meant,  exactly 
and  purposely  there  ?  Was  it  the  wretched  for 
sin,  only  ?  "  Contrite  "  was  bruised  together,  she 
thought ;  that  should  be  for  sin,  certainly ;  but 
bruised,  rubbed  harshly,  pinched  and  cramped  and 
pained,  in  hard  places  —  were  not  hearts  like  that, 
too,  apart  from  sin  ?  And  the  heart,  —  the  very 
wanting  and  suffering  and  prisoned  affection, — 
that  was  the  thing  promised  to  be  revived,  —  to 
have  its  life  given  to  it  —  by  Him  !  To  "  show 
pity  upon  all  prisoners  and  captives  "  —  was  not 
this  what  these  very  words  engaged  to  do  ? 

The  Sunday  air  was  sweet  to  her,  breathed  in 
with  such  thought ;  the  story  book  lay  unopened 
upon  her  lap  ;  a  bird  sung  unseen  in  the  high,  hid 
den  glooms  of  the  larch-tree  ;  perhaps  up  in  the 
sunshine,  quite  atop  of  the  gloom  ;  and  Jane  lis 
tened,  and  the  cheer  was  like  a  sudden  music  in 
herself ;  whether  she  sang,  or  the  bird  sang,  she 
could  hardly  tell. 

All  at  once  there  came  an  odd  little  interruption. 


CHAPTER  III. 

IT  seemed  an  interruption  ;  but  Jane  remembered 
it  afterward  as  just  the  beginning  of  the  rest  of 
it;  what  the  Bible  word  and  the  bird  song  had 
meant. 

Between  the  Turnbulls'  back  garden  and  the 
narrow  grounds  of  the  next  little  house  ran  a  fence 
of  board  palings,  set  close  together,  nailed  to  cross 
strips  top  and  bottom.  One  of  these,  it  appeared, 
was  unnailed  at  the  lower  end ;  for  it  slid  aside 
and  a  child's  head  and  shoulders  were  thrust 
through.  One  hand  pushed  away  and  held  up  the 
paling,  and  the  other  gathered  up  the  hem  of  a 
frock,  while  the  little  wearer  squeezed  herself 
through  edgewise,  and  then  stood  upon  her  feet  on 
the  hither  side,  letting  the  board  drop  into  its  place 
behind  her. 

It  was  like  the  appearance  of  a  fairy  upon  a  stage 
scene ;  the  small  bright  face  and  figure,  the  tossing 
curly  hair,  the  look  of  power  and  merry  mischief 
as  she  held  herself  still  and  upright  an  instant  and 
glanced  round  her,  catching  sight,  among  other  ob 
jects,  of  Jane. 


ASCUTNEY  STREET.  37 

"  I  Ve  come  through  the  looking-glass,"  she  said. 
"  But  that  is  n't  the  looking-glass  !  "  She  made  a 
disdainful  gesture  over  her  shoulder  at  the  fence 
and  its  closed  breach.  "  It  is  the  real  one,  —  be 
tween  the  windows,  over  the  console.  I  've  been 
here  before,  daytimes,  —  not  Sundays.  Are  you 
the  White  Queen?" 

"  Are  you  Alice  ?  "  asked  Jane,  amused,  and  con 
tinuing  the  allusion. 

"  Yes,  I  'm  Alice.  Alice  Sunderland.  That 's  al 
most  Alice  in  Wonderland,  is  n't  it  ?  But  I  '11  tell 
you  one  thing,  I  don't  really  get  into  the  looking- 
glass  ;  I  kneel  up  and  play  pretend,  and  then  slide 
round,  out  the  window ;  then  I  'm  behind,  you  see, 
just  the  same.  And  if  you  go  through  a  looking- 
glass,  why,  you  finish  it  all  up.  There 's  a  good 
deal  of  mischief  there  in  the  parlor,  though,  without 
that.  The  big  jar  slipped  off  when  I  kneeled  up, 
and  the  water  and  the  roses  are  all  over  the  mat 
ting.  I  tellifomed  up  to  Aunty,  and  then  I  came 
off  quick,  quite  away.  When  people  are  going  to 
be  in  a  f ue,  you  had  better  not  be  there,  —  if  you 
can't  help." 

Alice  was  evidently  quoting,  partly.  As  she 
ended,  she  walked  toward  Jane  under  the  larch-tree, 
still  holding  up  the  hem  of  her  frock. 

"  What  have  you  there,  Alice  ?  "  asked  Jane, 
very  much  as  if  she  had  been  the  White  Queen. 


38  ASCUTNEY  STREET. 

"  Oh,  they  're  uncle  Hansel's  mound  beads.  I 
borrowed  'em.  They  were  hung  over  the  handle 
of  the  jar.  Mamma  lends  me  things ;  things  to 
look  at,  —  and  pencils,  to  write  ;  and  sometimes  her 
stylo  pen.  But  she  does  n't  give  me  things,  because 
I  lose  'em,  and  forget  to  put  'em  back.  I  '11  lend 
you  these,  if  you  want  me  to."  She  put  a  great 
heap  of  strung  shells  —  a  yard  or  more  in  length, 
all  gathered  up  together  —  into  Jane's  lap.  They 
were  very  queer,  with  a  dead  color  and  a  worn  sur 
face,  as  if  they  had  been  eaten  into  smoothed 
roughness  by  some  long  action,  of  water  or  other 
wise.  They  made  Jane  think  of  tiny  skulls. 

"  They  came  from  way  out  West,"  said  her  little 
visitor.  "  Don't  you  think  they  're  pretty  ?  " 

"Very  —  curious,"  said  Jane,  holding  the  long 
double  festoon  across  her  hands.  "  Yes,  I  like  them 
very  much." 

"  They  were  dug  up  ;  they  'd  been  in  the  ground 
a  long  time,  with  heaps  of  other  things.  And 
people  !  "  she  whispered  mysteriously.  "  Do  you 
live  here?" 

"  I  stay  here,"  said  Jane.  "  And  I  'm  very  glad 
to  see  you.  Only  don't  you  think  Aunty  will  be 
looking  for  you  ?  " 

44 1  don't  want  to  go  while  she 's  looking  this 
way,"  answered  Alice.  "  When  she 's  gone  up 
stairs,  I  will.  But  I  shall  come  again.  Are  n't  you 
ever  here  daytimes  ?  " 


ASCUTNEY  STREET.  39 

"  Why,  this  is  daytime,  isn't  it?" 

"  Well,  —  it  is  n't  bedtime.  But  Sunday  does  n't 
seem  a  day,  exactly.  It 's  a  kind  of  a  —  long,  shiny 
stop.  There !  I  hear  Aunty,  way  round  by  the 
barnhouse.  We  have  n't  got  any  real  barning  in  it, 
—  of  horses,  you  know, — out  here."  And  Alice 
darted  off  as  suddenly  as  she  had  come,  slipped 
through  the  broken  paling,  and  was  gone,  leaving 
the  string  of  mound  shells  in  Jane's  lap. 

What  was  she  to  do  with  it?  It  must  be  re 
turned,  of  course.  It  would  not  be  safe  or  neigh 
borly  to  hang  it  on  the  fence.  The  child  might 
not  come  back  for  it  until  another  Sunday  reminded 
her,  unless  there  were  a  search  made  for  it. 
Would  it  be  better  to  wait  for  that?  It  might  not 
be  noticed,  or  thought  of,  at  once.  Jane  thought 
she  must  go  round  with  it,  and  immediately,  before 
all  the  people  were  coming  down  the  street  from 
church.  It  was  a  bit  of  a  happening  also,  and  she 
had  not  had  anything  happen  to  her  for  a  great 
while.  She  also  would  go  through  the  looking- 
glass. 

That  for  her,  however,  was  around  by  the  street, 
under  the  shady  elms  and  maples,  —  a  moment's 
turn,  which  brought  her  to  the  front  door  of  Mrs. 
Sunclerland's  house,  left  open  by  Alice  in  her 
hurried  entrance  while  Aunty  was  in  the  rear  prem 
ises.  Jane  stood  upon  the  porch,  just  lifting  her 


40  ASCUTNEY  STREET. 

hand  to  the  bell,  when  Aunty  appeared  through  a 
door  at  the  back  of  the  hall ;  a  somewhat  slow  and 
portly  personage,  evidently  out  of  breath. 

"  That  child  !  "  she  panted.  "  If  it  is  n't  one 
thing,  it 's  another ;  and  just  what  you  can't  expect 
or  get  ahead  of,  always  !  " 

"  I  beg  pardon,"  said  a  gentle,  deferential  voice ; 
and  then  Aunty  saw  Jane  at  the  door. 

"I  beg  pardon  too,"  she  said,  as  she  came  for 
ward.  "  I  'm  cross  and.  flustered,  and  talking  to 
myself.  I  can  stand  anything  but  being  wee- 
wawed !  " 

What  that  meant,  precisely,  Jane  did  not  stop 
to  consider.  "  I  came  to  bring  back  these  " —  she 
was  beginning,  when  Alice's  voice,  from  the  head 
of  the  staircase,  interrupted  her  in  great  excite 
ment. 

The  child  had  a  tiny  bell  in  her  hand,  which  she 
tingled,  and  then  called  out  "  Hullo  !  "  She  was 
"tellifoming." 

"  Come  quick,  Aunty !  Kick 's  half  out  of  the 
window,  and  he  won't  mind  me ! "  and  then  as 
Aunty  hurried  to  the  stairfoot,  and  seizing  the  rail 
swung  herself  round  the  newel-post  to  the  ascent, 
the  little  figure,  which  had  disappeared  in  its  flash 
ing  way  from  the  top,  came  flying  back,  and  another 
call,  in  two  words  only,  hollow  with  dismay,  smote 
both  listeners  direfully. 


ASCUTNEY  STREET.  41 

"J7e's  out!" 

Poor  Aunty  stumbled  and  fell  forward,  up  the 
steps.  Jane  sprang  past  her,  she  hardly  knew  how, 
and  rushed  to  the  upper  floor,  following  the  little 
girl  into  a  bedroom  where  was  a  low  open  window 
in  the  farther  opposite  corner. 

She  hastened  to  it,  saw  that  it  gave  upon  a 
narrow  sloping  hood  over  a  small  portico  below. 
No  one  was  visible  anywhere  but  Alice.  There 
was  no  sound,  either. 

If  the  child  had  fallen ! 

She  turned  trembling,  but  with  all  speed,  to  the 
staircase,  and  was  at  the  foot  again  on  her  way  to 
the  spot  beneath,  not  even  noticing  that  Aunty  had 
picked  herself  up  and  was  doubtless  preceding  her 
in  the  same  direction,  when  a  shrill  little  pipe 
called  out  exultingly  from  overhead,  — 

"  I  was  n't  out !  I  was  only  hided  in  the 
curtain !  " 

Jane  sat  down,  strengthless,  for  an  instant,  upon 
the  lowest  stair.  But  she  rose  directly,  and  went 
to  meet  Aunty,  coming  in  through  the  parlor  from 
the  portico.  "  It  can't  be  !  "  the  poor  woman  was 
gasping.  "He  isn't  there!  but  the  Good  knows 
where  he  is  !  " 

Jane's  first  words,  "  He  's  safe  ;  he  's  coming," 
were  half  lost  in  Aunty's  own  ejaculations. 

"  I  'm    right    here !     I    was    good !     I    did  n't 


42  ASCUTNEY  STREET. 

tumble ! "  Rick  himself  continued  to  announce, 
and  one  foot  foremost,  came  rapidly  paddling  down 
the  stairs. 

Aunty  sat  down,  in  her  turn,  upon  the  nearest 
thing,  which  was  the  floor.  Her  face  grew  paler 
yet,  she  slipped  into  a  heap,  and  lay  there.  Jane 
ran  through  to  where  she  knew  the  dining-room 
must  be,  came  back  with  a  pitcher,  placed  Aunty 
flat,  poured  water  into  her  own  hand,  and  wet  her 
face. 

"  I  'm  not  faint,"  Aunty  whispered  resolutely. 
"  I  never  fainted  in  my  life.  But  — I  —  can  —  not 
—  bear  beinsf  —  wee-wawed  !  Pulled  —  first  one 

O 

way  —  and  then  the  other, — you  know,  in  my 
work  —  or  in  my  —  feelings !  " 

"  You  've  been  the  death  of  Aunty,  Rick  !  " 
said  Alice's  voice,  solemnly,  over  the  balusters. 
"  She  always  told  you,  you  would." 

Aunty  faintly  laughed,  and  with  that  the  revul 
sion  came,  and  she  sat  up,  bursting  into  tears. 

"  I  ain't!  I  ain't  not!  "  shouted  Rick,  standing 
in  the  parlor  doorway.  Then  suddenly  he  turned 
and  ran  out  at  the  front  door  and  down  to  the  little 
gate. 

"  Mamma,  —  mamma  !  "  they  heard  him  begin, 
and  go  on  brokenly  and  in  a  choking  haste.  u  I 
ain't  not  been  the  death  of  Aunty !  I  did  mind,  — 
I  was  good,  —  I  didn't  not  tumble  out,  —  I  just 


ASCUTNEY  STREET.  43 

hided  (a  quick,  eager  catch  of  breath  and  a  sort 
of  spasmodic  swallow  at  each  gap  between  his 
words)  from  Alice,  —  and  Alice  —  went  —  and 
frightened  —  Aunty,  —  and  Aunty  —  sat  down  — 
to  rest  a  little  —  on  the  floor,  —  and  now  —  Alice 
—  is  coming  down  —  to  —  zadgerate  !  " 

But  Alice  was  not  coining  down ;  she  was  stand 
ing  still  upon  the  stairs ;  a  little  confounded  by 
all  that  had  resulted  from  her  imaginations  this 
morning. 

Mrs.  Sunderland  came  in,  leading  little  Kick. 

The  same  sweet,  quiet  figure  of  a  woman  that 
Jane  had  had  glimpses  of,  sometimes,  across  the 
garden  way,  or  on  the  street.  A  lovely  face  with  a 
tradition  in  it  of  some  sort  of  life  that  Jane  knew 
belonged  elsewhere ;  a  plain  gown  of  soft  gray 
summer  serge,  straight-hanging  save  for  one  grace 
ful  lift  and  loop  from  side  to  back,  a  round  shoulder 
cape,  a  straw  bonnet  with  white  ribbon  knotted 
with  a  few  green  leaves  beside  the  crown ;  not 
withstanding  all  the  simplicity  and  quietness,  a 
movement  and  expression  bright  and  vigorous  and 
self-contained  enough  to  account  for  her  being  the 
mother  of  two  little  originals  like  Alice  and  Rick ; 
such  a  presence  was  this  of  the  unnoticed  neighbor, 
the  woman  who  made  no  appearance,  and  whom 
nobody  called  upon. 

She  went  straight  to  Aunty,  who  was  trying  to 


44  ASCUTNEY  STREET. 

stop  her  tears,  and  had  got  upon  a  chair.  "  What 
was  it  all  about? "  she  asked  tenderly. 

"  Oh,  nothing,  —  now  it 's  over,"  was  the  reply. 
"  I  '11  tell  you  just  as  soon  —  as  I  get  myself  fairly 
shook  together." 

Mrs.  Sunderland  left  the  room,  and  came  back 
presently  with  two  small  glasses  of  wine.  She 
made  Aunty  take  one,  and  handed  one  to  Jane. 
"  You  look  pale,  too,"  she  said. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,"  Jane  began,  as  she  had 
begun  before.  "  I  only  came  to  bring  back  "  — 
she  looked  round  for  the  string  of  shells.  "  I  've 
dropped  them  somewhere ;  they  were  some  beads 
that  the  little  girl  brought  over  and  forgot." 

"  Never  mind ;  sit  down,  please,  and  drink  the 
wine." 

Alice  came  in  now,  to  her  mother's  side,  bring 
ing  the  beads,  which  she  had  found  upon  the  stairs. 
"  I  borrowed  'em,  mamma,"  she  said,  "  and  I  went 
through  the  looking-glass,  and  I  found  —  Is  she 
the  White  Qneen  ?  "  she  whispered. 

Mrs.  Sunderland  glanced  at  Jane,  who  was  still 
standing,  and  smiled.  "  I  should  think  not,"  she 
answered  her  little  daughter,  in  a  gentle  aside.  "  I 
do  not  think  she  looks  like  her  at  all." 

" No,"  Alice  whispered  again  ;  "the  White  Queen 
was  square  and  chunky ;  but  —  she  might  be  an 
other  white  queen,  — a  nicer  one,  you  know." 


ASCUTNEY  STREET,  45 

Jane  was  tall,  though  I  have  called  her  little ; 
she  was  only  little  in  a  social,  historical  sense ;  she 
had  a  dignity  that  came  of  much  keeping  of  her 
own  position  ;  and  her  face  was  fine,  as  well  as 
pretty.  Mrs.  Sunderland,  as  she  looked  at  her, 
was  puzzled  how  to  place  her  here,  in  Ascutney 
Street. 

"I  found  her  in  the  garden,"  Alice  went  on 
aloud,  "  and  she  knew  I  was  Alice,  and  she  under 
stands  Wonderland ;  and  I  told  her  about  the 
beads,  and  then  I  came  home,  and  then  Eick  " — 

"  I  think  you  will  have  to  tell  me  one  thing  at  a 
time,  Alice,"  said  Mrs.  Sunderland.  And  again 
she  begged  Jane  Gregory  to  sit  down. 

But  Jane  recollected  that  she  must  be  gone. 
She  had  taken  a  sip  of  the  wine,  and  now  she  set 
the  glass  upon  a  table.  "  I  thank  you  very  much," 
she  said  ;  "  but  if  you  will  excuse  me,  —  they  will 
be  coming  home,  and  would  you  mind  if  I  went 
round  by  the  back  way  ?  " 

"  Not  a  bit,  if  you  wish,"  said  Mrs.  Sunderland. 
"  Only  I  have  n't  had  time  to  understand,  and  I  'm 
sure  you  have  been  very  kind.  Won't  you  come 
in  again,  —  either  way  ?  "  she  asked,  smiling. 

Jane  looked  into  the  sincere,  beautiful  eyes.  "  I 
would,  if  I  might,"  she  said.  "  I  wonder  if  I 
may." 

"I  wonder  very  much   why   not?"    said   Mrs. 


46  ASCUTNEY  STREET. 

Sunderland,  with  some  meaning.  "I  wonder  — 
But  I  will  ask  you  other  things  another  time." 
She  gave  her  hand,  in  a  warm,  friendly  way ;  then 
Jane  went,  with  a  vague,  happy  sense  that  a  new 
door  had  been  opened  to  her,  into  a  pleasant  place, 
and  that,  for  once,  not  with  needle  and  scissors. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

IT  was  one  of  Mrs.  Turnbull's  afternoons.  Mrs. 
Inching  and  Miss  Rickstack  were  in  the  parlor. 
It  was  a  warm  day,  and  the  front  door  stood  open. 
Street  neighbors  would  step  in  without  ceremony. 
If  anybody  did  come  from  further  off,  Mrs.  Turn- 
bull  could  easily  meet  the  visitor  at  the  threshold. 
She  sat  within  view  on  purpose,  so  there  was  no 
need  of  door-tending. 

Jane  was  hemming  pillow-cases,  sitting  under 
the  larch-tree  in  the  old  chair.  She  had  on  the 
same  white,  thread-checked  muslin  she  had  worn 
on  the  Sunday,  four  days  ago.  Alice  Sunderland, 
from  a  perch  lower  down  in  the  garden  on  her  side, 
where  a  "lovely  rock"  sloped  up  to  the  fencetop, 
and  an  apple-tree  leaned  over,  discovered  her ;  in 
consequence,  and  because  of  a  certain  promise  in 
regard  to  Wonderland  and  the  looking-glass,  she 
hurried  in  and  upstairs  to  her  mother. 

"  Mamma,  I  said  I  'd  tell  you.  I  'm  going 
through  the  looking-glass.  The  White  Queen  is 
on  her  throne.  I  won't  borrow  anything  to  take 
with  me  ;  and  I  won't  do  any  mischief." 


48  ASCUTNEY  STREET. 

"  How  is  it  you  get  through  the  looking-glass, 
Alice  ?  "  asked  Mrs.  Sunderland. 

"  Oh,  don't  inquire  things,  mamma  !  it  breaks  it 
all  to  pieces  I  " 

"  Your  going  through  ?  " 

"  No,  no,  mamma  !  your  —  anybody's  knowing 
how ! " 

"But  I  ought  to  use  my  judgment  about  it, 
Alice,  don't  you  think  ?  How  can  I  give  you  leave 
without?" 

Alice  considered,  a  little  nonplussed. 

"Mamma,  why  can't  you  lend  me  your  judg 
ment?"  she  asked  gravely.  "  I  '11  be  very  careful 
of  it ! " 

This  was  hardly  to  be  resisted. 

"  Are  you  sure  there  's  no  danger  ?  you  won't  get 
a  tumble  ?  " 

"  Oh,  no,  mamma  !  I  could  n't  tumble  !  it 's  only 
just"- 

"  Well,  you  need  n't  tell  me.  And  you  won't 
tear  your  frock  ?  " 

"  I  can't  —  ever  —  be  quite  sure  about  my  frock," 
said  Alice  slowly ;  "  but  I  don't  think  it  would,  if 
I  wrap  it  tight." 

"  Very  well.  Remember  you  've  borrowed  my 
judgment.  It  is  a  thing  I  am  very  particular 
about." 

"  I  '11  be  very  particular  indeed,  as  particular  as 


ASCUTNEY  STREET.  49 

if  it  were  my  own,"  Alice  answered  with  most 
responsible  probity. 

Mrs.  Sunderland  meanwhile  had  been  writing 
three  lines  upon  a  card. 

"  Take  this  to  the  White  Queen,"  she  said. 

Two  minutes  afterward  the  loose  paling  was 
swung  aside  and  the  bright  little  face  peeped  in 
under  the  thick  shadows  upon  Jane.  A  small  hand 
held  up  a  bit  of  something  white.  "  May  I  come 
in  ?  "  said  Alice. 

"You  appear  to  have  a  ticket,"  answered  the 
White  Queen.  "  Only  the  Gray  Cat  is  the  door 
keeper,  and  the  Gray  Cat  is  also  a  policeman  and 
has  had  to  go  away.  He  has  just  arrested  a  mouse 
for  petty  larceny." 

"  Oh,  how  delightful  you  are  !  "  cried  Alice,  com 
ing  forward.  "  What  is  petty  larceny  ?  " 

"  Small  thieving ;   borrowing  without  leave." 

"Who  told  the  cat?" 

"  Oh,  the  cat  knew  beforehand.  That  is  what  his 
smellers  are  for." 

"  Did  n't  the  cat  know  I  was  coming  ?  " 

"  Perhaps  he  smelt  the  ticket  too,  and  he  did  n't 
smell  anything  borrowed,  this  time." 

"  No.  Mamma  lent  me  her  judgment,  herself ; 
of  her  own  decord,  almost,"  said  Alice.  "  And  she 
told  me  to  give  this  to  you." 

Jane  read  upon  the  card,  "Do  you  not  mean 


50  ASCUTNEY  STREET. 

to  come  over?  Can  you  not  give  me  a  half  hour 
to-night  after  tea  ?  "  In  the  middle  of  the  card  was 
engraved  delicately,  "Mrs.  Richard  Lee  Suncler- 
land." 

Jane  took  a  pencil  and  a  small  memorandum  pad 
from  her  work-basket.  Upon  a  leaf  from  the  lat 
ter  she  wrote,  — 

"  Thank  you  very  much.  I  will  try  to  come. 

JANE  GREGORY." 

"  When  you  go  home,  you  can  carry  that  to  your 
mamma,"  she  said,  doubling  the  paper  and  laying 
it  back  for  the  moment  with  the  tablet.  The  card 
she  slipped  into  a  pocket  of  the  basket-lining. 

Alice  looked  at  her  with  appreciation.  "I 
think  you  are  very  polite,"  she  said. 

"  Did  you  think  a  white  queen  would  be  not  po 
lite  ?  "  asked  Jane.  "  I  hope  you  will  sit  down  and 
stay  a  little  while.  There  is  quite  room  in  this 
wide  chair." 

"  Oh,  I  could  n't  think  of  getting  up  into  your 
throne !  "  said  Alice.  "  May  I  sit  here,  on  the 
cricket  part  ?  "  and  as  Jane  moved  to  the  right  and 
turned  a  little  sidewise  to  keep  her  needle  hand 
free,  making  an  open  place  beside  her,  the  child 
took  contented  possession  of  the  vacant  end  of  the 
long  foot-rest.  She  drew  a  breath  of  deep  satis 
faction.  "  It 's  so  nice  to  have  it  all  come  real," 
she  said.  "  It 's  fatiguing  sometimes  to  pretend 


ASCUTNEY  STREET.  51 

everything  yourself,  don't  you  think  so  ?  But  per 
haps  you  don't  pretend  ?  " 

44  No,  I  don't.  But  I  think  it  would  be  —  very 
fatiguing." 

"  Does  everything  come  real  to  grown-up  peo 
ple  ? "  asked  Alice.  "  Don't  you  have  to  pre 
tend?" 

"  It 's  a  great  deal  better  not  to.  Something 
comes  real.  It  is  better  to  be  satisfied." 

"  Only  while  you  're  waiting,  between  the  things. 
Oh,  I  think  I  shall  always  want  to  pretend  just  a 
little,"  said  Alice.  "  I  'm  so  apt  to  feel  in  a  hurry. 
But  I  forgot,  you  're  the  White  Queen,  and  you  're 
in  Wonderland.  Everything  pretends  itself  in 
Wonderland,  and  everything  comes  right  off." 

44  Does  it  ?  "  asked  Jane.     44  There  's  the  cat." 

44  Where  's  the  mouse  ?  " 

44  Oh,  the  mouse  is  executed,"  said  Jane  solemnly. 
44  That 's  what  happens  to  people  who  take  things 
in  a  hurry,  that  don't  belong  to  them.  You  see  it 
is  best  to  wait." 

44  Well,  I  think  the  cat  would  have  got  the  mouse 
all  the  same,"  Alice  retorted.  44  You  said  he  was 
beforehand  ;  and  I  think  he  's  taken  a  good  deal 
that  did  n't  belong  to  him  !  " 

44  What  did  it  say  on  my  ticket?"  she  began 
afresh,  when  there  had  been  no  immediate  answer 
to  that  last. 


52  ASCUTNEY  STREET. 

"  Something  very  polite  —  and  kind." 

"  Mamma  always  is." 

"  I  am  going  to  see  her,  by  and  by." 

"  Well,  she  '11  be  glad.  Only  nobody  must  come 
to  see  yo u,  right  here,  except  me." 

"Nobody  at  all?" 

"  Well,  not  anybody  that  does  n't  believe  in 
Wonderland,  at  any  rate." 

"  Will  that  keep  out  a  great  many  ?  " 

"  Most  everybody.  You  see  they  don't  believe 
enough  to  really  —pretend.  I  don't  know  about 
mamma,  even ;  she  likes  it,  —  she  thinks  it 's 
pretty,  —  to  tell  me  ;  but  I  'm  afraid  she  's  got  over 
it  herself,  since  she  used  to  play  Hansel  and  Gretel 
with  uncle  Hans,  —  oh,  that 's  a  pretty  story  !  "  she 
broke  off  to  exclaim,  clasping  her  hands.  "  Don't 
you  think,  —  your  majesty  "  —  suddenly  returning 
with  those  two  words  to  the  tone  and  manner  of 
Wonderland,  "  that  it 's  when  people  are  grown  up 
and  can't  believe  enough  to  really  pretend,  they 
have  to  pretend  they  believe  ?  " 

If  a  little  bell  had  not  tinkled  out  of  Alice's 
nursery  window  just  then,  it  is  hard  to  say  into 
what  corners  of  difficulty  she  might  have  led  the 
White  Queen  with  her  questions  ;  but  hearing  that 
she  sprang  to  her  feet. 

"  Oh  dear !    give   me  the  note,"  she  said.     "  I 


ASCUTNEY  STREET.  53 

must  go ;  that 's  my  tea-bell.    And  you  '11  come,  — 
you  '11  come  quick,  won't  you  ?  " 

"Dear  little  child,  I'll  try,"  said  the  White 
Queen.  And  then  Alice  put  up  her  hands  about 
Jane's  neck  and  kissed  her.  Jane  Gregory  could 
hardly  remember  when  she  had  been  kissed  be 
fore. 


CHAPTER  V. 

JANE  went  out  in  the  twilight  at  the  garden  gate, 
through  the  little  court  which  was  the  short  cut  to 
the  druggist's  corner,  and  so  into  the  garden  gate 
at  Mrs.  Sunderland's.  She  walked  up  the  alley- 
path  beside  the  fence  under  the  apple  and  pear 
trees,  and  then  crossed  over  to  the  side  entrance  in 
the  angle  of  the  little  house.  It  was  quite  the 
proper  door  for  her  to  come  to  ;  the  degree  between 
parlor  and  kitchen  which  it  represented  was  pre 
cisely  her  own. 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Turnbull  were  on  their  front 
piazza,  airing  their  leisure  and  their  proprietorship. 
Jane  had  washed  up  the  tea-things ;  so  Mrs.  Turn- 
bull  had  been  able  to  keep  on  her  company  attire. 
Nobody  thought  where  Jane  was,  so  that  she  was 
not  in  the  way ;  and  Jane  was  glad  there  was  one 
house  in  Ascutney  Street  not  tabooed  to  her 
through  being  the  habitation  of  any  of  the  discrete 
order  to  whom  her  own  neighborhood  and  its  cir 
cumstance  must  by  no  possible  means  or  accident 
be  made  known. 

As  sometimes  happens  to  those  who  take  a  lower 


ASCUTNEY  STREET.  55 

place,  Jane's  choice  of  modest  entrance  led  her 
straight  to  special  privilege,  for  at  right  angles  to 
the  door  at  which  she  was  about  to  ring,  a  window 
opened  down  to  the  floor,  from  the  corner  of  the 
little  back  parlor.  Just  inside  sat  Mrs.  Sunder- 
land,  in  her  low,  wide  basket  chair,  beside  which  a 
table,  also  low  and  wide,  held  writing  materials 
and  sewing  and  knitting  baskets  on  its  double 
etages. 

"  Don't  ring ;  come  right  in  here,"  said  the  pleas 
ant  voice  at  Jane's  elbow  ;  and  the  sash  was  pushed 
up  higher  from  within,  and  Mrs.  Sunderland  stood 
back  to  let  her  enter. 

"  I  'm  glad  you  came  neighborly,  not  as  a  caller," 
she  said,  pulling  nearer  another  low  wicker  chair 
set  on  small  rockers.  "  There  !  now  you  're  right 
in  my  intimate  corner ;  only  it  has  n't  been  inti 
mate,  yet,  with  anybody  but  the  children.  Miss 
Gregory,  I  'm  going  to  begin  on  the  puzzle  at  once. 
What  is  the  matter  with  the  neighborhood,  —  or 
with  me  ?  I  've  been  here  six  months,  and  not  a 
being  has  approached  me  —  from  less  than  three 
miles.  I  thought "  —  but  here  Mrs.  Sunderland 
checked  herself,  and  waited  as  if  for  an  answer  to 
her  question. 

"  I  don't  believe  I  can  explain,"  Jane  said.  "I 
don't  belong  here,  myself.  I  don't  quite  under 
stand  "  —  and  then  she  laughed.  "  It 's  atmos- 


56  ASCUTNEY  STREET. 

phere,  —  Ascutney  Street  atmosphere,"  she  added, 
as  if  she  might  be  thought  to  mean  a  repellence  of 
some  sort  on  Mrs.  Sunderland's  part. 

"  Oh,  atmosphere  !     Airs  ?  " 

"Atmosphere  is  made  up  of  airs,  I  suppose," 
Jane  answered.  "But,  Mrs.  Sunderland,  I  don't 
think  you  know  about  me.  I  am  not  one  of  Mrs. 
Turnbull's  family."  In  the  second  pause  she  made 
she  did  not  notice  the  flit  of  amused  expression  that 
played  over  Mrs.  Sunderland's  face,  just  lifting  lip 
and  eyebrow  with  an  "  I  should  think  not !  "  of 
acquiescence.  "  I  have  —  an  arrangement  —  with 
her,  for  a  while  ;  that  is  all.  I  am  only  a  seam 
stress,  Mrs.  Sunderland." 

"  You  are  only  the  one  lady  I  know  of —  as  yet 
—  in  Ascutney  Street,  Miss  Gregory,"  returned 
Mrs.  Sunderland.  "  The  others  seem  to  have  sent 
me  to  Coventry."  And  a  gay  laugh  of  utterest 
fun  broke  forth  as  she  spoke  the  words. 

"  It 's  an  idiotic  shame,"  observed  Jane  Gregory, 
making  a  mere  statement  without  the  slightest 
emphasis. 

"  Why,  you  treat  it  gravely !  "  said  Mrs.  Sun 
derland  quickly.  "  Do  they  say  any  evil  of  me  ?  " 

Now  Mrs.  Sunderland  was  a  born  diplomate, 
with  all  her  absolute  sincerity.  She  knew  which 
key  to  touch  by  instinct.  Perhaps  it  was  her  in 
heritance  ;  at  any  rate,  she  could  not  help  it.  She 


ASCUTNEY  STREET.  57 

discerned  at  the  outset  that  this  girl,  this  seam 
stress,  who  stitched  from  house  to  house,  had  noth 
ing  in  her  of  the  low  or  small ;  that  she  would  not 
retail  silly  things  that  she  might  easily  know ;  that 
she  would  not  secretly  turn  against  those  who  had 
employed  her,  repeating  any  foolishness,  even  if  it 
were  such  in  her  own  estimate  only,  to  which  such 
employers  could  have  nothing  correspondent.  She 
would  not  tell  of  them  what  she  thought  they  ought 
to  be  ashamed  to  have  told.  But  Mrs.  Sunderland 
wanted  to  know ;  to  have  the  full  fun  of  it ;  and  to 
study  Jane  Gregory  a  little  further  in  the  experi 
ment  besides.  So  she  asked,  with  tentative  pur 
pose,  "  Do  they  say  any  evil  of  me  ?  " 

Jane  sprang  into  the  trap.  Defending  Ascutney 
Street  from  suspicion  of  malice,  she  betrayed  its 
littleness. 

"  Oh,  no,  indeed !  it 's  only,  —  why,  it  is  too  ab 
surd  to  be,  to  say  nothing  of  explaining,  or  mind 
ing.  I  think  —  it  was  —  first  —  the  children's 
blue  denim  garden  suits  ;  and  then  —  you  did  n't 
dress  —  so  that  they  could  be  impressed  by  it ;  and 
—  they  have  seen  —  your  aunt  —  hang  out  the 
clothes." 

Mrs.  Sunderland  clapped  her  hands,  and  gave  a 
musical  little  shriek.  "  Oh,  what  fun !  "  she  cried. 
"  My  aunt !  Do  go  on  !  " 

"  Not  to  make  fun,  Mrs.  Sunderland.     Only  to 


58  ASCUTNEY  STREET. 

show  you  how  very  little  it  all  was.  I  think  I  Ve 
said  all  I  ought." 

"  Just  exactly  all,"  was  Mrs.  Sutherland's  reply, 
in  a  quite  different  tone.  "  I  won't  ask  you  a 
word  more.  I  Ve  been  making  the  most  delicious 
mistake  that  ever  was,  you  see  ;  only  you  don't  see, 
for  I  can't  quite  explain  it  to  you.  But  —  my  aunt! 
Why,  Miss  Gregory,  Aunty  is,  —  I  Ve  almost  for 
gotten  the  rest  of  it,  —  Anastasia  something,  I  be 
lieve  ;  but  '  Anty '  ever  since  I  can  remember  her 
at  home  in  my  mother's  service  ;  and  '  Aunty  '  to 
the  children  from  the  time  they  could  first  speak. 
Of  course  she  hangs  out  the  clothes !  she  does  ev 
erything  ;  and  likes  it  better  than  when  —  if  — 
there  were  half  a  dozen  more  to  do  one  thing  —  or 
half  a  thing  —  apiece.  Poor  dear  Aunty !  so  there 
came  along  a  blackbird  and  nipped  off  her  nose  ! 
Mother  Goose  illustrated ! "  and  the  gay,  sweet 
laugh  chimed  out  again. 

u  I  beg  your  pardon,"  seeing  that  Jane  could  do 
nothing  but  sit  silent ;  "  but  if  you  could  see  just 
what  I  do,  — my  going  through  the  looking-glass! 
I  wanted  to  ask  you,  are  your  arrangements  with 
Mrs.  Turnbull  quite  permanent  and  exclusive? 
Can  nobody  else  have  a  bit  of  you,  —  for  a  week 
or  two,  at  least  ?  " 

"Oh,  no  —  yes,  I  mean;  I  go  out  whenever  I 
can.  It  is  the  dtdl  time  now.  It  is  only  when  I 


ASCUTNEY  STREET.  59 

am  not  occupied  anywhere  else  "  —  There  Jane 
stopped,  as  approaching  too  nearly  detailed  ex 
planation  which  she  was  not  at  liberty  to  make. 

"  I  see,"  said  Mrs.  Sunderland.  But  she  did 
not  see ;  she  only  thought  Mrs.  Turnbull  got  sew 
ing,  and  possibly  other  service,  from  Jane,  at  these 
intervals,  in  return  for  her  board. 

"  I  would  like  you  to  come  here,  if  you  would. 
I  have  needlework  to  put  out ;  but  I  would  rather 
take  the  needlewoman  in,  —  if  it  could  be  you. 
Shall  we  try  each  other  for  a  fortnight  ?  A  month 
would  be  better,  if  I  might  ask  for  it." 

"  I  thank  you.  You  are  very  kind."  Jane  an 
swered  with  the  same  genuine,  deliberate  utterance 
of  each  separate  word  that  we  have  noticed  before 
to  be  her  way.  "  I  will  come  for  the  fortnight ; 
and  then,  if  it  seems  best,  it  can  be  the  month, 
—  the  rest  of  it,  —  afterward.  Did  you  mean  to 
stay,  or  only  by  the  days  ?  " 

"And  go  back  to  Mrs.  Turnbull  for  the  nights? 
No,  indeed.  I  want  a  little  of  your  leisure,  to  put 
with  mine  and  the  children's.  Alice  has  taken 
such  a  —  loving  —  to  you,  Miss  Gregory." 

Jane  did  not  repeat  her  thanks.  This  could  not 
be  thanked  for  in  words.  Had  she  got  among  the 
angels?  But  I  think  Mrs.  Sunderland  under 
stood  her  muteness. 

At  this  moment  the  children  came  running  in, 


60  ASCUTNEY  STREET. 

followed  by  Aunty.  Jane  sat  in  the  shadow,  and 
they  passed  her,  going  to  their  mother.  "  May 
Aunty  light  the  moon  ?  "  they  cried. 

Yes,  Aunty  might  light  the  moon  ;  the  sky-moon 
would  not  be  lit  to-night.  Jane  sat  still,  waiting 
to  see  what  would  come  of  that.  A  lamp,  of 
course,  she  supposed  ;  these  children  were  so  imagi 
native  ;  nothing  was  in  the  ordinary  to  them. 

A  match  snapped  and  flickered  ;  by  the  light  of 
it  Jane  saw  Aunty  lift  the  top  hemisphere  of  a 
great  white  globe  that  hung  in  the  middle  of  the 
room  over  a  table.  The  flame  was  touched  to  a 
lamp  within  the  shade,  the  upper  half  replaced, 
and  then  was  seen,  hung  by  delicate  chains  to  a  sil 
ver  equatorial  line,  a  fair,  soft,  planet-like  thing,  in 
pure  white  glows  and  dusks  of  carven  work  on  ala 
baster,  that  shed  a  tender  radiance  through  all  the 
room,  and  was  itself  an  apparition  of  delight  to 
look  at. 

Jane  uttered  a  low  exclamation. 

"  Pretty,  is  n't  it  ?  It  is  the  children's  moon. 
I  brought  it  from —  Ah,  yes,  Alice,"  she  inter 
rupted  herself  opportunely.  "  Your  White  Queen 
is  here ;  the  looking-glass  leads  both  ways." 

They  sat  a  little  longer  in  the  fairy  light,  Jane 
talking  with  the  children  ;  then  they  all  said  good 
night,  for  Aunty  came  for  the  little  ones,  and  Jane 
rose  to  go.  But  it  was  settled,  in  the  moment  on 


ASCUTNEY  STREET.  61 

the  porch,  after  the  children  were  upstairs,  that 
that  day  week  should  be  the  beginning  of  the  fort 
night. 

Mrs.  Turnbull  came  into  Jane's  room  just  after 
the  latter  had  taken  down  the  fastenings  of  her 
hair,  and  stood  brushing  it  before  the  glass.  The 
lady  had  over  her  arm  a  polonaise  of  peacock-blue 
surah,  and  some  breadths  of  dove-colored  silk. 

"  I  just  wanted  you  to  look  at  this,"  she  said. 
"  I  guess  we  can  make  a  combination  with  them, 
and  I  thought  we'd  take  hold  of  it  to-morrow." 
And  she  went  on  with  intricate  suggestions  of  "  let 
ting  in  some  side  puffs,  and  putting  on  a  plaiting, 
and  finishing  with  an  edge  of  lace  across  the  front, 
and  a  heading  of  some  iridescent  bead  trimming." 

" 1  '11  begin,  if  you  wish,"  said  Jane  ;  "  but  I 
have  a  basque  promised  to  Mrs.  Storrie,  and  a 
week  from  to-day  I  am  engaged  for  a  fortnight.  I 
will  do  all  I  can." 

"  Oh  dear  !  and  Mrs.  Hilum's  lunch  is  Tuesday ! 
The  Flyes  are  there,  from  New  York.  I  wanted  it 
to  wear !  " 

"  If  it  could  be  a  little  simpler,  —  I  might  try  ; 
I  '11  finish  the  basque  to-morrow,  and  there  '11  be 
Saturday  and  Monday.  Maybe  we  need  not  alter 
it  so  much." 

"  Oh,  I  hate  simple  things  !  "  Mrs.  Turnbull  re 
joined,  with  an  indescribable  nasal  contempt  in  the 


62  ASCUTNEY  STREET. 

utterance  of  the  first  syllable  of  the  adjective. 
"  And  I  want  it  to  look  entirely  different  from  what 
any  part  of  it  ever  did  before.  That 's  the  beauty 
of  combinations.  You  can  transmogrify,  and  not 
show  the  vamping  up." 

Mrs.  Turnbull  waived  the  fact  that  she  herself 
knew  every  shade  of  color  and  inch  of  trimming 
that  her  intimate  friends  had  ever  worn,  and  could 
trace  them,  with  perfect  accuracy  and  unflagging 
interest,  through  all  after  -  adaptations  ;  and  that 
kindred  methods  made  all  women  keen. 

"  But  where  are  you  going  next  week  ? "  she 
asked  curiously. 

Jane  threw  back  her  flood  of  fawn-brown  hair 
upon  her  shoulders,  and  leaned  over  the  polonaise, 
examining  something  in  its  construction. 

Mrs.  Turnbull  was  easily  diverted.  "  What 
hair  you  have  got,  Jane !  "  she  cried.  "  Now  if  I 
could  match  that  color  in  a  silk !  It  is  n't  caffiolay, 
nor  old  gold,  nor  furlmort ;  but  liow  it  takes  the 
light !  " 

Jane  stood  back  again,  and  resumed  her  brush 
quietly.  "  I  like  my  hair,"  she  said,  much  as  Mrs. 
Turnbull  might  speak  of  a  bonnet  that  pleased  her ; 
and  her  fingers  slipped  along  its  shining  length  half 
caressingly.  "  Hair  is  such  a  beautiful  thing." 

"  How  funny  you  are  !  even  with  a  compliment. 
But  you  don't  do  anything  with  it !  " 


ASCUTNEY  STREET.  63 

"  My  hair  ?     I  enjoy  it.     It  is  all  my  own." 

"  Of  course.  I  can  see  that"  returned  the  ac- 
centuative  lady,  "  when  it 's  all  down."  Jane  did 
not  explain  her  different  meaning.  "  But  when 
it 's  up,  —  it 's  pretty,  of  course  ;  but  there  's  no 
sort  of  effect  to  it.  It  would  look  like  another 
thing,  if  you  'd  dress  it,  —  as  I  do.  My  !  if  /had 
such  hair !  " 

Jane  glanced  at  the  reflection  in  the  glass  over 
her  shoulder  —  she  would  not  have  looked  more 
directly  —  of  the  mass  of  bang  and  finger-puffs 
and  coroneted  braid,  and  could  not  resist  saying, 
"Yes,  it  would  be  quite  another  thing.  But  I 
should  need  to  be  quite  another  person." 

"  Perhaps  that 's  it.  It  might  not  be  so  suitable. 
You  're  a  very  sensible  girl,  Jane,  if  you  are  queer," 
Mrs.  Turnbull  answered  serenely. 

But  she  took  an  agitated  tone  again  as  she  sud 
denly  reverted  to  her  former  subject.  "  What  in 
the  world  am  I  to  do  for  Tuesday  ?  And  where  is 
it  you  are  going  on  Thursday  ?  " 

"  Mrs.  Sunderland  wants  me ;  and  I  have  prom 
ised." 

It  had  to  come. 

"  Well,  I  must  say !  "  ejaculated  Mrs.  Turnbull. 
What  she  must  say  she  did  not  proceed  to  state. 
Perhaps  it  was  not  easy,  in  due  order  and  force,  to 
extemporize  it.  She  gathered  up  her  peacock  and 


64  ASCUTNEY  STREET. 

dove  colored  stuffs  and  went  off  to  her  own  bed 
room. 

On  Monday  night  a  little  twisted  note  came  over 
from  Mrs.  Sunderland  to  Jane.  Alice  brought  it ; 
to  the  front  door  this  time.  Mr.  Turnbull,  smoking 
his  cigar  as  he  walked  about  among  the  little 
shrubberies  in  the  front  yard,  took  it  from  her  at 
the  gate.  Mrs.  Turnbull  sat  on  the  piazza,  and 
said  nothing.  Children  were  such  an  entering 
wedge,  she  thought.  Mrs.  Sunderland  was  Jane 
Gregory's  acquaintance  ;  and  Alice  had  on  a  plain 
gingham  frock,  and  an  old-fashioned  white  pina 
fore. 

This  was  the  note  :  — 

"  Please  come  on  Thursday  at  eight,  precisely ; 
I  have  a  reason.  And  for  a  reason,  or  a  fancy, 
please  come  up  the  little  outside  staircase  from  the 
garden,  at  the  very  back,  and  enter  at  the  door  you 
will  find  unfastened  at  the  top. 
Yours  truly, 

M.  G.  SUNDERLAND." 

At  eight  o'clock  on  Thursday  the  children  were 
at  breakfast  with  their  mother  in  the  dining-room 
on  the  other  side  ;  Aunty  was  busy  attending  upon 
them;  Jane  crossed  the  garden  and  went  up  the 
flight  of  steps  that  ran  from  the  grass  ground  to  a 
small  square  landing  at  the  very  end  of  the  building 
above.  A  door  here,  half  glazed  and  screened 


ASCUTNEY  STREET.  65 

with  white  muslin,  led  her  into  a  plain  but  exqui 
sitely  dainty  little  room,  a  half-square  rectangle  in 
shape,  whose  length  took  the  whole  cross  dimension 
of  this  extended  portion  of  the  house. 

A  white  straw  matting  covered  the  floor ;  two 
soft  white  sheepskin  foot-rugs  lay  upon  it,  one  by 
the  bedside  and  one  before  the  tiny  fireplace  in  the 
outer  wall,  where  stood  a  large,  comfortable  cane 
chair,  with  cushions  covered  with  white  dimity.  A 
dressing-table  made  of  a  packing-box  and  flounced 
with  the  like  material,  a  white  pine  bedstead  with 
dimity  spread  and  pillow  -  scarf ,  a  white  pine 
washing-stand  with  rods  above  it  plentifully  hung 
with  plain  towels  that  shone  with  fine  ironing  and 
were  precise  in  evenly  creased  folds,  nicely  fitted 
fresh  white  window-blinds,  —  these  were  the  other 
furnishings.  Holland  shades  of  dark,  cool  green, 
between  the  white  ones  and  the  sashes,  and  three 
jacqueminot  roses  in  a  slender  glass  upon  the  dress 
ing-table,  were  the  only  relievings  of  color.  Over 
by  the  further  window  a  light  sewing-machine 
table  was  placed  sidewise  ;  a  white  cover  laid  over 
its  working  parts. 

Jane  stood  there,  making  just  a  corresponding 
bit  of  delicate  tint  and  prevailing  whiteness,  in  her 
cambric  dress  with  its  tiny  pink  sprigs  far  apart  on 
a  fair  ground.  She  stood  there  still,  taking  in  the 
prettiness  and  sweetness  all  around  her,  when  steps 


66  ASCUTNEY  STREET. 

were  heard  coining  along  an  inward  passageway : 
little,  hurried,  eager  ones,  and  others,  as  light,  al 
most  as  quick,  but  differently  measured.  Mrs. 
Sunderland  was  speaking  to  the  children. 

"  No  ;  you  have  never  been  here  before  ;  it  has 
not  been  open.  But  now,  you  see  the  way.  There 
is  the  looking-glass.  You  may  knock  three  little 
knocks  upon  the  door  beside  it." 

Three  little  single  knocks  sounded  ;  then  a  very 
audible  half  whisper,  — "  Me,  mamma,  too  ;  let 
me  ;  "  and  just  as  Jane  had  her  hand  on  the  knob 
there  came  three  more,  rather  faster  and  lower 
down.  She  turned  the  latch,  drew  herself  back  as 
she  gently  swung  the  door  quite  in  against  the 
wall,  and  Rick  and  Alice  entered,  curious,  excited, 
delighted.  Mrs.  Sunderland  stood  in  the  doorway. 
Across  the  outer  panels,  now  folded  into  the  cham 
ber,  hung  a  large  square  mirror  in  a  light  frame. 

"  There,  Alice  !  "  said  Mrs.  Sunderland.  "  This 
is  a  nearer  way.  When  the  White  Queen  is  here, 
and  would  like  to  see  you,  there  will  be  the  look 
ing-glass,  and  you  may  knock.  When  you  cannot 
come  in,  or  she  is  not  here,  it  will  have  disappeared, 
and  the  door  will  be  fast.  Thank  you,"  she  said 
to  Jane,  "  for  playing  into  my  little  plan.  I  hope 
you  won't  object  to  what  it  leads  to.  The  children 
have  been  getting  very  lonely.  You  must  not  let 
them  come  upon  you  too  much ;  but  when  you  can 


ASCUTNEY  STREET.  67 

have  them,  the  other  matters  are  quite  secondary, 
please  understand." 

"  I  thank  you,  Mrs.  Sunderland.  I  do  under 
stand  ;  and  I  am  pleased,  very  much.  *  I  am  so 
glad  to  be  in  their  little  story.  I  'm  sure  it  is  in 
me  to  be  fond  of  children,  though  I  have  n't  had 
much  chance  to  realize  it.  It  has  been  just  as  if 
they  were  birds  ;  I  always  long  to  get  close  to  them 
and  coax  them  into  my  hands,  but  I  never  expect 
they  will  let  me  catch  them." 

The  truth  was,  Jane,  in  her  outside  feeling  as 
regarded  everybody,  was  absolutely  timid  with  the 
children  of  those  who  admitted  her  to  no  sort  of 
personal  relation  with  themselves ;  and  more  espe 
cially  so,  the  more  the  little  people  were  fenced  off 
by  airs  and  costumes.  She  made  the  fences  her 
self  ;  she  approached  them  only  to  do  that ;  after 
ward,  they  were  separated  from  her  by  her  own 
handiwork  and  devices.  She  knew  it  was  an  ut 
terly  senseless  feeling  ;  but  it  got  the  better  of  her, 
none  the  less. 

Mrs.  Sunderland  opened  a  deep  drawer  in  a 
wall-press  beside  the  chimney,  and  showed  Jane  a 
pile  of  nice  white  stuffs  —  flannels  and  cottons  and 
cambrics  and  Hamburg  edgings ;  a  basket  upon  a 
shelf  above  held  threads  and  needles,  buttons, 
tapes,  and  all  such  things. 

"  I  have  set  up  this  place  for  you ;  it  was  easy  to 


68  ASCUTNEY  STREET. 

fall  in  with  Alice's  fancy.  You  have  a  white 
realm,  you  see ;  and  as  I  wish  you  to  take  full 
authority  here,  it  is  well  you  are  installed  as  the 
White  Queen.  There  is  nothing  to  manage  chil 
dren  with  like  a  little  myth  of  their  own  to  handle 
them  by." 

Meanwhile,  Alice  and  Kick  were  reconnoitring 
eagerly.  "  Why  did  n't  you  tell  us  of  this  place 
before?  We  thought  it  was  only  a  closet." 

"  Well,  you  see  what  the  closet  opens  into,  now 
the  time  has  come.  It  was  full,"  she  explained  to 
Jane,  "  of  trunks  and  bundles  and  all  sorts  of  un- 
bestowed  lumber,  until  within  a  week.  And  I  dis 
covered  it  would  make  such  a  nice  little  sewing- 
room." 

"  Mamma  !  "  cried  Alice,  finding  and  opening 
the  door  upon  the  outside  landing.  "  Why ! " 
turning  round  and  round  in  bewildered  recogni 
tion  ;  "  we  have  played  up  and  down  these  steps, 
and  they  did  n't  go  anywhere  but  to  the  platform. 
Where  was  this  door  ?  " 

Mrs.  Sunderland  came  out  and  pulled  across  the 
entrance  a  sliding  shutter  that  filled  up  with  a  flat 
board  surface  from  floor  to  eave  the  space  between 
the  upright  beams  that  served  as  doorposts.  "  That 
shuts  it  in,  safe  from  cold  weather  or  tramps,"  she 
said. 

"  Mamma  1  it  is  magnificent !     It  is  a  story-book 


ASCUTNEY  STREET.  69 

thing !  I  'm  so  happy  !  "  and  Alice  danced  up  and 
down  in  ecstasy. 

"  I  thought  it  would  please  you,  some  day,"  said 
her  mother.  "  I  kept  the  secret  till  I  knew  just 
what  to  do  with  it." 

Was  all  this  for  only  two  weeks,  —  or  for  a 
month,  even  ?  It  felt  to  Jane  like  a  new  beginning 
of  something  that  was  to  go  on  into  a  quite  different 
life  for  always.  Already  her  changes  from  house 
to  house,  her  dreary  intervals  at  Mrs.  Turnbull's, 
seemed  long  ago.  There  was  a  place  here  made 
for  her  ;  a  thought  for  her  in  everything  about  it. 
Work  ?  Was  that  what  she  had  come  for  ?  Per 
haps.  Perhaps  it  would  be  for  work  that  she 
should  come  to  paradise.  But  in  paradise,  work 
takes  other  character  and  name.  Some  word 
sweeter  than  "  pleasure  "  would  stand  for  it  in  the 
new  language. 

I  do  not  mean  to  detail  every  little  thing  that 
had  to  do  with  Jane's  fortnight  here ;  but  this  way 
in  which  it  began  was  such  a  pretty  way  of  its  own 
that  it  needs  to  be  represented  as  it  was  presented 
to  her  ;  it  opens  and  indicates  the  whole  spirit  and 
expression  of  that  which  followed  and  surrounded 
her  through  the  days. 

"  One  thing  I  will  say  to  you,"  Mrs.  Sunderland 
began,  as  they  sat  down  together  over  a  basket  of 
work.  "  You  will  know  just  what  I  mean,  —  and 


70  ASCL7TNEY  STREET. 

don't  mean.  Whatever  there  is  here  which  you 
may  notice  behind  my  little  looking-glass,  unex 
pected  or  otherwise,  please  don't  be  —  provoked  — 
into  explaining,  in  my  behalf.  I  'd  rather  not  be 
explained,  if  I  cannot  explain  myself.  Character 
is  like  the  solar  system.  It  has  nothing  to  do  but 
to  go  on.  People  will  only  understand  what  they 
come  to,  if  all  the  secrets  of  the  universe  were  chis 
eled  out  upon  the  rocks."  Which  was  perhaps  a 
rather  stately  way  of  putting  it,  but  Mistress  Mar 
garet  Sunderland  could  be  stately  sometimes. 

"  Oh,  I  quite  know,"  Jane  answered.  "  It 's 
just  as  true  of  a  little  bit  of  moss  as  it  is  of  a 
planet."  So  these  two  met  each  other,  and  fitted 
to  each  other's  thought. 

If  Jane  ever  did  make  common  talk  of  anything, 
she  would  not  for  the  world  have  made  common 
talk  of  the  things  she  saw  and  was  part  of  for  the 
time  in  Mrs.  Sunderland's  household.  The  deli 
cate  refinement  of  all,  and  the  generosity  that  took 
her  into  it,  gave  it  a  sanctity. 

"  I  suppose  she  's  got  more  than  she  can  finish," 
Mrs.  Turnbull  had  suggested,  as  a  final  solution  of 
the  problem.  This  was  at  once  a  clinching  of  a 
certain  theory  that,  chiefly  through  Mrs.  Turnbull's 
observations,  had  sprung  up  in  Ascutney  Street, 
and  a  disposal  of  the  contradiction  to  it  which  had 
at  first  seemed  involved  in  Mrs.  Sunderland's  em- 


ASCUTNEY  STREET.  71 

ployment  of  a  seamstress.  The  theory  was  that 
Mrs.  Sunderland  "took  in  work"  herself.  The 
coming  and  going  of  certain  parcels  had  looked 
like  it;  and  then  there  was  a  particular  carriage 
that  came  now  and  again  of  a  morning,  rather 
early,  from  which  either  the  man  who  drove,  or  a 
very  inconspicuous  little  feminine  person  in  plain 
dress  who  sometimes  came  and  alighted,  carried  in 
a  basket. 

"  It  might  be  fine  washing,  even,  who  knew  ?  " 
said  the  Ascutaey  Street  people.  "  It  was  n't  any 
body  to  see  her,  for  it  was  n't  a  seeing  hour,  for 
folks  who  would  come  in  carriages,  except  on  an 
errand ;  and  the  girl  who  got  out  was  n't  a  car- 
riage-y  looking  person,  either." 

"  It  may  lead  to  a  permanency,"  Mrs.  Turnbull 
had  said,  in  a  slightly  ill-used  tone  of  sarcasm. 
"  She  may  take  you  in  partnership." 

Jane  Gregory  knew  very  well  that  there  would 
be  more  of  this,  in  question  and  comment,  when 
she  returned  after  the  fortnight :  and  that  she 
should  be  continually  provoked  to  mention  some  lit 
tle  quenching  incidental  circumstance  ;  but  now,  — 
and  she  was  glad  to  have  her  own  indignant  pride 
for  her  new  friend  strengthened  by  her  friend's 
frank  word,  —  nothing  could  have  drawn  from  her, 
through  provocation,  artifice,  or  surprise,  any  least 
betrayal. 


72  ASCUTNEY  STREET. 

She  would  not  have  told  Mrs.  Turnbull  that 
while  all  the  furnishings  of  the  little  house  which 
had  been  observable  in  the  landing  from  the  wag 
ons,  or  patent  at  windows,  were  of  the  simplest, 
there  were  other  things  that  had  come  invisibly  in 
safe  foldings  and  packings,  which  gave  marvelous 
tone  and  finish  to  the  home  Ascutney  Street  knew 
nothing  of ;  things  quite  out  of  Ascutney  Street  ex 
perience  or  imagination.  She  would  not  have  said 
that  while  "  there  was  not  a  woolen  carpet  in  the 
house,"  there  were  rugs  of  indescribable  softness 
and  richness  in  the  bedrooms,  a  superb  tiger-skin 
with  ivory  claws  stretched  out  before  the  settee- 
like  sofa  of  wickerwork  in  one  parlor,  and  that  in 
the  other  was  a  bear-skin  like  a  snowdrift.  She 
might  not  have  been  able  to  state  that  a  great,  beau 
tiful  etching  of  a  Madonna  upon  one  wall  was  an 
Overbeck ;  or  a  painting  of  a  tiny,  lovely  bit  of 
wood-glade,  with  two  rabbits  alert  and  listening, 
with  slender,  erected  ears  that  seemed  to  say 
"  Hark  !  "  like  uplifted  fingers,  —  whence  you  felt 
at  once  the  gesture  of  the  uplifted  finger  must 
have  somehow  grown,  —  and  quivering  with  the 
spring  that  was  presently  to  take  them  flashing 
away  into  a  thicket  from  some  as  yet  far-off  alarm, 
was  a  real  Landseer.  She  would  not  have  told  of 
the  children's  "  moon,"  or  the  fair,  white  sculpture 
of  the  Persephone,  that  rested  on  the  only  bit  of 


ASCUTNEY  STREET.  73 

velvet  or  fine  upholstery  stuff  in  the  room,  a  gar 
net-covered  bracket ;  she  would  not  have  counted 
as  upholstery  a  table-cover  or  two  that  were  like 
woven  pictures  ;  nor  spoken  of  the  books  that  filled 
from  floor  to  ceiling  a  plain  set  of  dark-stained 
shelves. 

Of  the  life  they  lived  there,  it  would  have  been 
of  no  use  to  speak ;  people  must  live  a  piece  of  such 
to  know  it.  The  very  questions  of  the  children 
were  of  a  range  and  realm  that  the  mere  good- 
clothes  -  wearing,  scrupulous  -  card  -  leaving,  lunch- 
spreading  and  lunch  -  eating  round  had  never 
touched ;  that  it  was  too  busy  with  its  own  labo 
rious  following  and  striving  to  reach  up  to. 

They  played  out  whole  fairy-tales  in  the  white 
room  and  the  rooms  adjoining,  which  were  the  chil 
dren's  for  their  sleep  and  sport ;  and  the  long  L-pas- 
sage  and  the  outer  platform,  with  the  garden  stairs 
leading  to  the  shade  and  pleasantness  of  the  small 
but  pretty  grounds,  served  them  for  space  and 
scenery  enough. 

Mrs.  Sunderland  was  as  happy  and  as  earnest 
as  Alice  and  Rick ;  she  said  she  liked  them  to  live 
out  their  little  imaginations,  and  represent  in  action 
what  had  so  pleased  them  in  fancy.  To  them  it 
was  realization  :  and  to  realize  one's  ideals,  even  if 
beginning  only  with  nursery  fables,  was  the  way  to 
live.  It  would  lead  to  actualization  of  theories, 


74  ASCUTNEY  STREET. 

perhaps,  in  after  times,  which  otherwise  might  re 
main  useless  day-dreams  forever.  For  this  very 
reason  she  but  slightly  approved  of  exhibited  the 
atricals  :  these  were  the  formalizing  less  of  the 
thing  than  the  shadow ;  they  beguiled  into  self- 
consciousness  ;  whereas  the  genuine  "  be-ing,"  as 
the  children  called  it,  their  favorite  characters,  and 
the  "  doing  "  of  their  deeds,  was  a  self-surrender 
to  that  which  they  ardently  delighted  in  and  ad 
mired. 

With  all  their  pretty  make-believes,  Jane 
thought  there  were  never  little  people  so  honestly 
and  simply  real,  as  the  two  little  Sunderlands. 

"  The  great  mistake  in  all  living,"  said  Mrs. 
Sunderland  to  her,  "  is  the  keeping  of  two  separate 
selves  :  one  that  would  be,  and  one  that  is.  There 
is  always  some  way  of  uniting  the  two." 

"  Do  you  think  so  ? "  asked  Jane,  surprised. 
"  There  is  something  that  is  stronger  than  would 
or  will,  I  'm  afraid.  Must  treads  both  down." 

"Make  must  serve  your  own  turn,  then,"  said 
Mrs.  Sunderland. 

"  Men  may  do  that,"  said  Jane  meekly.  "  They 
make  the  world  suit  them,  or  turn  it  upside  down. 
Girls  have  a  hard  time." 

"  Are  you  there,  little  one  ?  "  asked  Mrs.  Sun 
derland,  with  a  laugh.  "  Better  steer  round  that 
snag ;  let  the  iron  double-bows  run  against  that. 


ASCUTNEY  STREET.  75 

My  dear !  "  she  broke  forth  in  fresh,  serious  ear 
nest,  "  boys  have  a  hard  time !  They  're  getting  so 
dreadfully  shoved  aside.  They  're  pushed  away 
from  behind  the  counters,  and  out  of  the  profes 
sions.  I  think  it 's  a  great  shame.  Why,  a  young 
man  can't  marry,  nowadays,  until  some  young 
woman,  I  suppose,  has  laid  up  a  prudent  compe 
tence,  enough  to  support  a  husband,  and  comes  and 
asks  him.  And  by  the  time  they  might  come,  they 
know  better ;  there  is  n't  any  motive.  A  man  can't 
make  a  Jiome^  while  the  woman  does  the  other 
thing  !  I  've  a  feeling  on  this  subject,  Jane  ;  I  've 
got  kinsmen,  —  and  friendsmen,  —  and  I  know 
how  horrid  it  is  for  them.  They  would  want  nice 
wives,  of  course  ;  and  they  —  Well  —  there  's  poor 
old  Hans  gone  out  West,  away  from  everybody 
he  likes  and  belongs  to,  to  ride  round  among  the 
ranches,  and  get  caught  in  the  blizzards.  Why 
don't  these  enterprising  women  do  that,  if  they  're 
so  equal  to  everything?  Men  have  to  take  the 
rough,  it  seems,  and  make  the  places,  and  women 
are  to  come  in  as  fast  as  they  're  smoothed  out,  and 
fill  all  up,  and  drive  on  the  poor  fellows,  that  ought 
to  be  some  of  their  husbands,  to  more  wilderness, 
like  the  hunted  aborigines  !  " 

"  Women  can't  all  marry,"  said  Jane. 

"  No,  of  course  they  can't,  under  such  circum 
stances.     It 's  because  the  men  can't.     I  don't  say 


76  ASCUTNEY  STREET. 

it 's  all  their  doing,  —  just  in  this  way ;  but  that 's 
part  of  it ;  and  between  the  dolls  and  the  drivers, 
it 's  done.  And  then,  where  the  men  are  n't  angels, 
it  conies  back  upon  the  women,  and  there  are  the 
poor  unspeakables." 

"  Still  as  things  are,  we  have  got  to  work,  or 
starve,  or  —  come  to  the  unspeakable." 

"  Work,  —  yes  ;  you  're  in  the  right  line,  my 
dear  ;  but  the  other  two,  —  no  !  there  are  homes 
yet ;  and  they  want  more  women  in  them.  Daugh 
ters  don't  stay ;  or  if  they  do,  it  is  n't  much  for 
home,  only  for  headquarters  ;  literally,  a  place  to 
put  their  heads  in  when  they  are  n't  in  their  bon 
nets.  They  've  got  the  boom,  and  they  're  off  for 
outside  careers  and  causes.  This  is  where  the 
change  and  the  compensation  come  in,  and  will 
keep  the  world  round,  after  all.  It 's  a  game  of 
puss-in-the-corners,  and  the  wise  pussies  will  slip 
into  the  corners,  by  the  firesides  and  the  mending- 
baskets  and  the  cradles.  You  're  all  wanted  there, 
Jane  Gregory,  and  you  're  not  wanted  in  the  crowd 
and  hustle." 

"  I  wonder  if  women  could  n't  do  something  in 
the  new  places,"  said  Jane  thoughtfully. 

u  Out  there  among  the  blizzards  ?  Why,  yes  ; 
and  as  fast  as  they  get  there,  they  do  it,  the  wo 
men's  part  of  it,  —  and  that  way  has  to  be  often, 
to  be  sure,  a  piece  of  the  men's  ;  but  for  the  first 


ASCUTNEY  STREET.  77 

clearing,  the  very  roughest,  the  men  generally  go 
ahead  alone.  After  the  families  begin,  there  begin 
to  be  pussy  corners,  you  know,  too ;  even  in  log 
cabins." 

"  I  don't  see  how  the  families  do  begin,"  said 
Jane. 

"  A  few  go  in  families  at  the  start,  of  course ; 
some  leave  their  families  in  the  old  places  for  a 
while,  and  fetch  them  when  they  've  chopped  the 
woods  a  little,  or  ploughed  up  a  bit  of  prairie  ;  and 
then  there  are  the  towns  that  are  laid  out  and  set 
tled  up  all  in  the  lump,  like  the  sentences  children 
read  without  spelling.  I  never  considered  it  very 
systematically ;  but  that 's  the  way  we  hear  about 
it.  And  —  Oh,  the  railroads,  of  course  ;  they  are 
like  rockets  with  lines  to  them,  fired  off  from  point 
to  point  over  the  breaks  and  chasms,  and  bridging 
the  way  for  the  crowd,  that  will  go  wherever  it  sees 
a  bridge.  Oh,  yes ;  settling  the  country  is  done  by 
the  big  job,  now,  but  it  does  n't  make  new  country 
into  old  home,  for  all  that ;  and  it 's  hard  for  a 
long  time  for  a  man  like  my  —  like  —  Hansel." 

Mrs.  Sunderland  felt  a  sudden  little  mental 
twitch  when  she  came  to  the  name  that  before  had 
been  so  quick  upon  her  lips.  She  had  nearly  said 
something  else,  something  much  more  fully  explan 
atory  ;  and  then  it  occurred  to  her  that  she  would 
not.  Not  at  all  in  any  wild,  remote,  impossible 


78  ASCUTNEY  STREET. 

reference  to  Jane  ;  such  never  entered  her  sensible 
head ;  only  as  it  concerned  herself.  Something  in 
clined  her,  in  the  attitude  things  had  taken  with 
her  in  Ascutney  Street,  not  to  make  manifest  even 
to  Jane,  quite  yet,  the  least  bit  of  her  personal  and 
social  links ;  names  and  relationships  open  up  a 
good  deal.  "  Sunderland "  might  happen  to  be 
anybody's  name ;  but  if  the  whole  of  Doctor  Han 
sel's,  and  its  connection  with  herself,  were  as  this 
and  that  set  together,  they  would,  to  a  great  many 
people,  give  the  key  to  the  whole  story  which  she 
meant  for  a  while  to  have  the  fun  of  keeping  to 
herself. 

Not  one  of  these  small  Ascutney  Street  men  of 
the  modern  little  multitudinous  business  world,  but 
would  have  heard,  at  least  traditionally,  of  the 
stately  old  mercantile  firm  of  Griffith  and  Sunder 
land,  that  was  great  on  the  wharf  and  the  exchange 
long  before  Ascutney  Street  was  even  a  cross  foot 
path  over  the  country  fields,  or  ever  an  "  hourly  " 
omnibus  plodded  from  that  precinct  to  the  city. 
And  nobody,  who  knew  by  the  merest  hearsay  of 
present  general  society,  but  could  tell  you  that  the 
Griffiths  and  Sunderlands  had  so  married  back  and 
forth  in  two  or  three  generations,  besides  reaching 
matrimonially  into  other  strong  parallels,  that  these 
stood  as  at  the  head  of  a  list,  the  very  mention  of 
any  single  family  of  which  suggested  a  whole  clan 


ASCUTNEY  STREET.  79 

and  history  of  social  power,  having  its  roots  in  at 
least  three  great  metropolitan  centres.  It  did  not 
matter,  in  individual  cases,  whether  the  money 
power  were  there  or  not ;  of  course  many  a  young 
Griffith  or  Sunderland  had  his  own  way  to  make, 
as  Margaret  said ;  and  probably  it  came  all  the 
harder  upon  them  in  the  matter  of  starting  new 
centres  and  planting  new  homes. 

All  this  parenthesis  is  ours  ;  it  was  but  a  flash  in 
Margaret  Sunderland's  mind  as  she  spoke. 

"  Is  it  Doctor  Hansell  who  is  the  children's  un 
cle  Hans  ?  "  Jane  asked  quite  innocently. 

"  They  call  him  so,"  answered  the  duplicit  Mar 
garet. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

GRETEL   TO    HANSEL. 

"You  need  not  thank  me  so  meekly,  dear  old 
Hans,  for  my  tumultuous  letter-writing  to  you ;  it 
is  my  only  safety-valve.  But  then  you  always  were 
my  steam-escape,  you  know,  —  the  only  one  I  can 
puff  off  all  my  half-condensed  sublimations  to. 
How  queer  it  is  that  nobody  seems  to  realize  —  as 
we  always  did,  since  the  days  we  traveled  off  to 
the  old  witch-fairy's  sugar-candy-and-gingerbread 
house  together  —  that  all  we  do  in  this  world  is  to 
live  out  some  fable  or  other ;  and  that  '  only  a  fa 
ble  '  means  only  a  thing  factable.  You  need  n't 
laugh  at  my  English  words  or  my  Latin  derivation. 
I  've  looked  it  out  and  don't  care.  It 's  all  one  in 
creation,  to  speak  and  to  do.  You  were  half 
right  and  two  thirds  wrong  —  and  that  also  is  an 
anti-common-sense  possibility  —  in  shaking  your 
head  at  my  experiment  in  coming  here  to  Ascutney 
Street,  and  trying  life  alongside  a  different  row  of 
people  from  those  I  had  been  accustomed  to,  and 
who,  I  insist  upon  it,  had  a  most  limiting  and  re 
pressing  influence  upon  one  whole  side  of  me  that 


ASCUTNEY  STREET.  81 

was  getting  paralyzed  and  withered  in  consequence 
of  the  cramp  and  useless  tying-down.  I  knew  I 
was  right  at  the  start,  and  in  the  leading  motive,  — 
to  do  something  at  my  end  that  should  correspond 
to  what  brave  old  Eick  was  doing  at  his,  and  so  the 
sooner,  perhaps,  make  the  two  ends  meet  again.  I 
knew  I  was  right  in  leasing  Bay  Hill,  and  getting 
out  of  the  expenses  there.  It  was  no  use  for  Rick 
to  say, c  You  can  remain  as  you  are ;  I  don't  see  any 
need  to  alter  things  essentially  for  you  here,'  when 
I  knew  the  money  it  would  take  would  be  just  so 
much  out  of  what  he  was  going  off  to  the  opposite 
meridian  to  get  together  again  and  make  up  his 
losses  with;  just  so  much  time  lengthened  out  — 
days  for  dollars  —  in  our  separation.  For  the 
way  of  living  involves  so  much,  —  more  than  just 
the  housekeeping  accounts  from  month  to  month  ; 
it  settles  the  whole  principle  of  plan  and  calcula 
tion  and  necessity  in  the  general  and  for  the  future. 
I  knew  he  would  not  come  back  until  he  could  feel 
he  need  never  go  again  ;  and  I  wanted,  in  case  of 
disappointment  or  break  in  health,  or  any  trouble 
here  apart  from  money,  in  which  we  must  have 
each  other,  that  there  should  be  a  kind  of  living 
established  and  proved  that  he  could  come  right 
back  to.  I  wanted  to  find  out  that  we  might  do 
without  paraphernalia.  Besides  all  this  I  had  a 
curiosity.  I  wanted  to  take  the  chance  to  dip  a 


82  ASCUTNEY  STREET. 

while  into  a  different  piece  of  the  story  ;  to  get  near 
to  something  simpler,  —  something  more  primitive 
and  neighborly.  I  thought  I  should  like  to  live  in 
a  quiet  little  country  street,  with  people  who  did 
not  ride  in  their  own  carriages,  or  give  grand  re 
ceptions,  but  knew  each  other's  little  ins  and  outs, 
and  were  especially  sympathetic  with  the  outs. 

"  There  's  just  where  I  missed  it.  They  don't.  I 
plunged  myself,  unbidden  and  without  introduc 
tion,  right  into  the  midst  of  the  fiercest  kind  of  an 
aristocracy  ;  aristocracy,  I  was  going  to  say,  in  the 
making ;  only  I  fancy  it  is  not  precisely  the  genu 
ine  process.  It  is  rather  aristocracy  in  the  poten 
tial  ;  and  which  takes  upon  itself  the  indicative. 

"  Do  you  believe,  they  would  nt  let  me  in  ?  I  Ve 
been  here  six  months,  and  not  a  creature  has  called 
upon  me.  They  look  at  me  over  the  fences,  and 
spy  me  out  and  guess  at  me,  and  decide  that  I  am 
not  their  sort,  and  that  the  bars  are  not  to  be  let 
down.  So  I  have  hidden  myself  up  more  than 
ever.  And  the  fun  of  it  —  is  even  beyond  what 
the  experiment  would  have  been  !  I  never  guessed 
before  how  easy  it  was  to  hide  and  be  forgotten. 
Why,  you  have  only  to  slip  out  of  your  place  for  a 
moment,  with  whatever  slight  pretext,  and  —  pro 
vided  you  have  done  nothing  to  bring  the  police 
after  you  —  there  are  n't  half  a  dozen  persons  to 
bother  about  you,  or  care  whether  you  ever  turn 


ASCUTNEY  STREET.  83 

up  or  not,  till  you  choose  to  put  yourself  in  evi 
dence  once  more.  '  Out  of  town  '  is  all  there  needs 
to  be  said  about  it.  4  Gone  a  journey,'  —  it  does 
n't  matter  whether  five  miles  or  five  thousand,  since 
you  're  off,  —  and  people  have  turned  round  to  the 
next  thing.  I  would  have  gone  out  West  with  you, 
if  that  had  n't  been  really  too  wild  a  notion  with 
the  children ;  but  here,  only  as  far  west  as  Chester- 
bury,  I  am  just  as  secure.  Even  if  I  run  up 
against  anybody  in  a  town  shop,  I  need  only  say, 
4  Down  from  the  country  on  an  errand  or  two,'  and 
they  let  me  go  again,  both  out  of  sight  and  out  of 
mind,  with  the  most  Barkis-y  willingness !  Of 
course  I  owe  much  immunity  to  the  fact  that  Kick 
has  gone  to  the  far  Indian  seas  to  patch  up  the 
hole  in  his  fortune,  and  that  we  sold  the  town 
house  and  the  ponies  and  a  carriage  or  two,  before 
he  left.  Doubtless  when  some  of  the  kin  reassem 
ble  within  easy  drive  after  their  scattered  summer- 
ings,  it  will  change  the  aspect.  A  few  more  car 
riages  coming  and  going  will  perhaps  open  wider 
the  curious  eyes  to  a  kind  of  enlightenment  they 
can  take  in.  The  fun  will  then  be  to  see  what 
they  can  consistently  do  about  it. 

"  Do  you  know,  Hansel,  why  the  knight's  move 
is  the  most  puissant  on  the  chessboard  ?  It  is  the 
move  of  courtesy  and  valor ;  so  it  carries  strength 
and  privilege.  The  mightiest  majesty  cannot 


84  ASCUTNEY  STREET. 

budge  at  all,  of  course,  except  to  edge  itself 
from  a  threatened  intrusion  ;  the  castles  —  the 
great  solid  established  powers  and  orders  —  go 
up  and  down  their  perpendiculars  and  horizontals, 
and  bear  tremendously  on  whatever  is  precisely 
in  their  way ;  the  bishops,  and  other  clergy,  slide 
on  their  peculiar  diagonals,  seeming  to  avoid  the 
rigidities  of  rank,  but  maintaining  their  own ;  the 
queen,  —  ah !  she  indeed  may  vary  with  the  subtle 
dominance  of  the  suave  oblique,  the  dignified 
limit  of  the  direct,  but  her  weakness  is  that  she 
cannot,  after  all,  for  whatever  emergency,  break 
out  of  range  or  confuse  her  lines.  See  what  the 
knight,  the  free  noble,  does!  He  alone  leaps 
the  boundary !  He  only  can  take  two  steps  on  his 
own  road  and  one  off  at  the  same  time  upon  the 
path  of  his  neighbor ;  or  one  step  off  from  self  and 
the  conventional,  and  two  alongside  in  fellowship 
upon  the  next  parallel.  Over  heads,  across  bar 
riers,  he  springs  and  alights  as  he  will,  and  as  he 
is  wanted.  It  is  he  who  solves  the  problems  and 
defies  the  hindrances ;  and  he  never  jumbles  up 
the  game,  either.  Hansel,  chess  would  be  aw 
fully  stupid  if  it  were  not  for  the  knight's  move ! 

"I  only  meant  to  write  you  a  'light  running 
domestic ; '  but  you  and  I  always  do  get  into  the 
reasons  of  things.  What  I  am  explaining  and  pref 
acing  is,  that  I  have  taken  a  sort  of  knight's 


ASCUTNEY  STREET.  85 

jump  myself  into  a  next  row,  and  found  what 
I  should  not  have  got  precisely  if  I  had  held  on 
to  my  own  particular  square,  or  file  of  squares,  for 
ever.  I  have  made  friends  with  a  most  charming 
little  pawn,  and  am  gently  escorting  her  forward, 
or  planning  to  do  so,  step  by  step,  out  of  a  block 
she  got  into,  without  a  safe  or  worth-while  move 
for  her  in  any  direction.  And  you  know  there  is 
this  about  a  pawn, — she  may,  under  special  protec 
tion,  and  by  gently  wise  progression,  come  eventu 
ally  to  queen  !  I  never  thought  until  this  minute, 
what  a  pretty  thing  it  is  that  the  only  piece  that 
has  the  very  elements  of  the  royal  move  in  its  own 
small,  unpretending,  faithful,  patient  advances,  is 
the  pawn ! 

"  I  have  n't  any  special  scheme  for  her ;  I  do  not 
mean  to  put  schemes  into  her  head,  —  or  even  dis 
contents  ;  I  have  simply  got  her  into  my  home,  in 
her  own  humble  capacity  and  use,  and  further  into 
my  heart  than  she  imagines.  I  do  not  mean  to  let 
her  go  again  carelessly ;  and  I  feel  somehow  sure 
that  there  is  something  for  her  in  the  world  that 
maybe  I  can  help  her  reach.  She  would  n't  care 
to  be  a  queen  ;  and  I  don't  mean  place  and  station 
for  her,  when  I  think  of  possible  change ;  but  some 
little  rule  and  realm  that  every  woman  likes,  —  at 
least  some  little  freedom  and  fullness  of  existence, 
—  that  I  feel  like  demanding  for  her,  and  wringing 


86  ASCUTNEY  STREET. 

out  of  circumstance.  These  Ascutney  Street  people 
have  so  looked  down  upon  her !  I  mean  just  one 
household  of  them  who  have  had  her  services, — for 
her  board,  I  believe,  —  and  have  kept  her  presence 
with  them  disguised  or  suppressed,  because  they 
knew  Ascutney  Street  would  look  down ! 

"  Probably  I  should  not  have  told  you  all  this, 
but  that  I  have  had  literally  nothing  else  to  tell 
of  late,  or  to  interest  myself  about,  beyond  the 
children's  pranks ;  and  it  was  a  prank  of  theirs,  in 
deed,  that  brought  Jane  here.  She  has  won  her 
way  with  them  ;  Alice  came  upon  her,  as  she  called 
it,  '  through  the  looking-glass ; '  which  really  meant, 
I  had  reason  to  suspect,  a  trespass  across  garden 
bounds  into  my  disdainful  neighbor's  premises  ; 
and  the  child  has  named  her  —  the  coincidence 
with  what  I  have  been  saying  just  strikes  me  as  I 
write  it — her  White  Queen. 

"  Maybe  I  have  left  you  to  suppose  that  I  have 
wrapped  my  enthusiasm  about  some  ordinary  un 
bred  girl  of  coarse  service,  and  am  trying  my  wand 
upon  her,  by  way  of  turning  a  Cinderella  into  a 
princess,  and  making  a  coach  out  of  a  pumpkin  for 
her  to  ride  in.  '  Altro  ! '  If  sweet,  high  womanli 
ness  means  that,  my  little  seamstress  is  a  lady. 
She  's  a  different  '  speshoo,'  as  old  Dobson  used  to 
say  to  us  in  her  descriptive  comments  on  Australian 
natural  history. 


ASCUTNEY  STREET.  87 

"  Do  not  think,  either,  that  I  am  uncomfortable 
here,  or  desolate,  or  repenting  my  bargain.  I  have 
got  more  experience,  and  some  better  things,  than 
I  came  for;  the  house  and  garden  are  pretty 
and  nice ;  the  children  are  happy,  for  they  fetched 
their  fairyland  with  them ;  Primrose  comes  to  see 
me,  on  her  way  to  and  from  the  trains,  where  she 
leaves  or  meets  her  husband,  and  brings  me  apricots 
and  roses  and  grapes  from  Edgemere  ;  I  have  Rick 
and  you  to  write  to  ;  and  I  don't  even  contemn  —  I 
only  watch,  as  a  specimen  in  the  grub  condition  — 
Ascutney  Street. 

"  Now  I  want  another  long  letter  from  the  wilds. 
I  don't  care  if  it  is  rit  a  ranch  country,  or  mines 
and  gulches,  or  a  tornado  track ;  all  these  things 
are  west  of  the  Mississippi,  and  so  are  you  ;  and  I  'm 
only  gradually  getting  able  to  sort  you  out  and  set 
you  apart.  Has  your  old  Swedish  woman  learned 
to  pronounce  her  /s,  or  got  her  tongue  round  all 
the  consonants  in  the  4  Griffith '  yet  ?  or  does  she 
still  despair  of  that,  and  call  you  4  Dhocdhor  Yan,' 
and  does  she  make  yam,  and  yems,  and  yonnycake 
for  you,  and  open  yars  of  yinyer,  when  the  yudye 
rides  over  at  tea-time  ?  And  did  her  currant  yelly 
yell? 

"  I  'm  very  peaceful  about  your  having  her,  dear 
old  Hans ;  and  the  photograph  of  the  little  long, 
low  house  is  lovely,  with  the  natural  park-like  sur- 


88  ASCUTNEY  STREET. 

roundings  of  soft  sweeping  turf  and  the  far  shadows 
among  the  groups  of  lordly  old  black  walnuts! 
Sunnywater  is  a'  picture  and  a  poem,  in  the  very 
name  ;  but  I  can't  trust  altogether  to  that  for  you  ; 
and  I  do  hate  to  think  of  those  long  rides  out  to 
the  farms,  and  the  winter  storms,  and  the  break 
neck  road  to  the  fort,  and  only  Mrs.  Knutzen  and 
her  boy  Bap  for  you  to  come  home  to ! " 

HANSEL    TO    GRETEL. 

"  Don't  worry,  little  woman,  about  what  I  have 
to  come  home  to,  when  you  keep  me  company  your 
self  with  such  budgets  as  that  I  have  just  spent 
half  my  evening  with.  And  as  to  what  I  go  out 
to,  you  simply  can't  think  what  the  glorious  differ 
ence  is  between  a  rush  over  the  prairie  with  a  fairly 
beaten  bridle-path  to  follow,  or  even  a  scramble 
down  the  bluff  and  a  transit  by  the  cable  ferry 
to  the  opposite  scramble  up  again,  and  the  tame 
ways  of  crowded  civilization,  hanging  on  to  straps 
in  horse-cars,  timing  trains,  or  driving  along  macad 
amized  thoroughfares  in  a  continuous  procession 
that  never  passes  a  given  point  in  any  number  of 
hours  together.  Why,  I  never  got  out,  before,  in 
all  my  life,  until  I  came  here !  and  I  think  I  am 
like  the  genie  that  got  out  of  the  bottle.  Now  I 
have  fairly  stretched  myself,  I  don't  believe  I  shall 
ever  get  back  again,  —  to  stay,  at  any  rate. 


ASCUTNEY  STREET.  89 

"  The  joke  of  your  supposing  that  going  to  As- 
cntney  Street —  the  last  little  adaptation  of  Queen- 
Anne-to-the-million  in  pretentious  demand  and 
supply  for  modern  measures  and  patterns  of  living 
—  would  bring  you  into  some  sweet,  arcadian 
simplicity !  Of  course  the  simplicity  all  went  there 
with  yourself,  like  the  children's  fairyland,  and 
was  speedily  disenchanted  into  a  very  disgusted 
enlightenment.  I  am  glad,  however,  that  you  are 
not  wholly  disheartened  or  desolate ;  you  would  be 
pretty  sure  to  be  preventing  somebody  else  from 
being  so  wherever  you  were. 

"  As  to  your  chess  parable,  I  can  add  a  simili 
tude  to  those  you  have  so  ingeniously  fitted.  Does 
it  occur  to  you  what  the  doubled  pieces  mean? 
That  there  is  a  king's  side  and  a  queen's  side  to  the 
affairs  of  life?  Yours  is  the  feminine  chivalry, 
the  knight's  move  with  the  womanly  power ;  there 
remains  to  be  made  a  reinforcing  of  the  position 
by  the  K.  Kt.  And  where  is  he,  to  be  on  yomr 
part  for  your  white  pawn  ?  If  you  can  bring  him 
forward,  my  lady,  I  think  you  may  have  done  your 
work. 

"  But  these  little  pawns  with  the  queen's  impulse 
in  them  have  a  hard  time  getting  across  the  board, 
even  among  their  friends.  I  have  caught  glimpses 
of  such  in  my  ways  among  all  sorts ;  and  I  know 
just  the  kind  of  4  sweet,  high  womanliness,'  without 


90  ASCUTNEY  STREET. 

its  fair  chance,  that  you  mean.  And  yet,  —  you 
women  of  the  step  above,  —  are  you  always  willing 
to  make  real  room  for  them,  a  place  beside  you 
that  would  need  no  patronage?  I  wonder  what 
you  would  say  to  me,  for  instance,  Gretel,  if  I  were 
to  take  a  knight's  jump  somewhere,  and  lead  a  little 
white  pawn  toward  the  front  ?  " 

When  Margaret  got  thus  far  in  Doctor  Hansel's 
letter,  I  am  bound  to  say  she  made  a  long  pause 
and  catechized  herself,  and  I  am  afraid  she  did  not 
come  out  from  the  catechizing  quite  satisfied  with 
the  lesser  self  to  which  the  nobler  put  the  test  ques 
tions.  I  am  afraid  that  she  was  not  quite  ready 
that  Doctor  Hansel  should  make  that  knight's 
move.  "At  any  rate,"  she  said,  taking  up  the 
letter  from  her  lap  with  a  long  breath,  "  he  is  away 
out  there.  One  need  not  trouble  about  it  yet 
awhile.  He  won't  pick  up  a  red  pawn,  —  nor  a 
black  one.  He  's  a  white  knight."  She  did  not 
fancy  the  white  pawns  were  especially  plenty  at 
Sunny  water. 

The  rest  of  the  letter  she  read  aloud  afterward 
to  Kick  and  Alice ;  and  Jane  Gregory  heard  it. 

"  I  would  like  to  have  had  you  and  the  children 
with  me  up  the  river  on  a  holiday  I  have  just  had. 
I  don't  often  go  out  of  instant  reach  of  my  work ; 
but  I  had  no  especial  cases,  and  there  is  a  good  fel 
low  out  here  on  a  prospect  for  a  practice,  whom  I 


ASCUTNEY  STREET.  91 

have  half  a  mind  to  go  shares  with  myself,  in  a 
circuit  I  can  hardly  swing  round  to  now,  and  that 
will  double  up  its  population  in  ten  years'  time. 
Anyhow,  I  took  this  run  —  went  up  on  one  of  the 
government  boats  with  an  inspecting  party  under 
Major  Griggs.  There  were  half  a  dozen  pleasant 
men,  and  two  or  three  ladies.  We  went  where  the 
Indian  summer  comes  from.  All  along  the  river 
lands  was  that  lovely  haze  like  gold  mist,  and  the 
trees  and  creepers  were  just  beginning  to  kindle 
up.  You  have  no  idea  how  a  creeper  does  grow, 
when  it  has  only  one  thing  to  cling  to.  If  I  were 
a  versifier,  I  would  save  that  to  make  a  poem  of. 
But  the  poem  was  there,  with  a  thousand  others. 
You  will  see  a  tall  elm,  with  a  trunk  column  as 
round  as  a  fair  Doric,  running  straight  up  all  by 
itself  sixty  feet  before  it  throws  out  its  tent  of 
boughs  ;  and  a  vine  starting  at  its  roots  has  laid 
every  shoot  and  leaf  close  down  upon  the  bark, 
knowing  right  well  there  is  nothing  else  near  to 
fling  out  for ;  and  so  climbing  and  clinging  and 
facing  itself  all  the  time  toward  the  light,  it  has 
fitted  a  perfect,  unbroken  mosaic  of  foliage  to  the 
tree-pillar.  Above,  where  it  gets  to  the  branches, 
the  streamers  and  festoons  have  their  way,  and  the 
whole  splendid  thing  is  alive  with  breath  and 
motion  in  the  high  blue  air.  The  colors,  breaking 
out  here  and  there  on  single  leaf  or  tips  and 


92  ASCUTNEY  STREET. 

clusters,  are  like  jewels  among  green  enamel. 
Fancy  the  whole  tree  incrusted,  as  it  will  be  soon, 
with  such  a  fretwork  of  gems,  and  then  imagine  a 
colonnade  of  such  trees  just  far  enough  from  each 
other  to  keep  their  single  perfection,  and  you  have 
one  of  the  variety  of  pictures  that  this  up-river, 
lazy  stroll,  in  shallow,  uncertain  waters,  gave  and 
suggested  to  us,  with  sufficient  lingering  before 
each  point  to  make  it  thoroughly  a  study  and 
possession. 

"The  solitude  of  these  river  stretches  between 
the  towns  is  wonderful.  The  channel  changes 
make  the  farm  borders  so  uncertain  on  the  water- 
lines,  that  a  man  may  have  acres  of  plantation  one 
year  that  are  all  under  the  river  next;  and  of 
course  they  build  their  houses  away  back  in  safer 
places.  You  see  nothing  of  habitation  ;  when  the 
boat  wants  fresh  eggs  or  butter,  a  yawl  is  sent  off 
to  a  landing,  and  the  men  go  up  country  a  mile  or 
more  for  a  supply.  Fancy  the  sunsets  in  this 
width  of  stillness,  when  the  hazy  air  turns  crimson 
and  pink;  and  the  twilights  and  the  moonlight 
nights ! 

"I  know  it;  there's  where  the  romance  might 
come  in.  But  somehow,  I  think  romance  would 
have  interrupted.  Chatter  did,  often.  I  think  al 
most  any  kind  of  talk,  measured  against  that  grand 
quietness,  would  have  sounded  small ;  the  distance 


ASCUTNEY  STREET.  93 

was  hardly  appreciable,  in  such  contrast,  between 
the  light  conversation  of  the  upper  deck  and  the 
chaff  and  chuckle  of  the  roustabouts  down  below. 

"  There  were  two  pretty  young  women  on  board, 
but  there  wasn't  any" —  ("H'm!  nonsense!" 
Margaret  interpolated.  The  next  words  really  were 
"White  Queen.") 

"  An  incident  happened  one  day,  however,  which 
reminded  me  of  a  glimpse  I  did  once  get "  — 
("  H'm  —  h'm  !  I  believe  I  've  lost  my  place," 
said  Mistress  Margaret,  glancing  on  and  returning. 
"  Ah,  here  it  is ")  .  .  .  —  "  steaming  up  finely 
along  an  open  run  of  deep  water,  making  the  best 
time  we  could  to  reach  the  furthest  point  of  our 
trip  before  night.  There  was  a  fresh  wind,  almost 
directly  in  our  faces  ;  we  were  on  deck,  enjoying  the 
exhilaration  of  progress  after  so  much  dawdling ; 
when  for  an  instant  the  breeze  rose  to  a  gust,  and 
two  hats  went  off,  whirling  down  and  across  stream, 
and  finally  lodging  among  the  weeds  and  osiers  of 
a  broad  marsh.  One  belonged  to  an  officer,  and 
one  was  a  young  lady's.  There  was  a  good  deal  of 
fun,  of  course ;  the  girl  was  very  pretty,  and  her 
hair  got  loose  and  flew  picturesquely  about  her 
face  ;  she  behaved  nicely  enough,  but  rather  as  if 
she  enjoyed  it ;  and  afterward  there  was  some  to- 
do  about  turning  a  spare  soft  felt  of  the  major's, 
with  twisting  and  ribboning,  into  a  feminine  head- 


94  ASCUTNEY  STREET. 

gear,  that  was  successfully  effected,  and  the  thing 
sported  with  the  least  little  air  of  pleased  distin- 
guishment,  during  the  rest  of  the  voyage. 

"I'll  tell  Alice  of  the  other  thing  — like  and 
unlike  —  that  I  saw  once.  It  was  a  great  deal 
harder  for  the  girl,  for  it  was  on  a  railroad  train, 
full  of  passengers,  going  into  the  city.  The  hat 
blew  off  as  she  stood  upon  the  platform,  just  as  the 
cars  left  a  way  station ;  she  had  to  go  into  the  car 
riage  and  sit  down,  bareheaded ;  and  she  did  it 
just  as  simply  and  as  quietly  as  if  —  she  had  had 
a  half  yard's  height  of  bows  and  plumes  overhead 
to  keep  her  in  countenance,  instead  of  only  some 
light,  beautiful  rolls  of  sunny-colored  hair,  and  a 
few  soft,  wavy  tips  or  short  locks  that  touched  her 
forehead  and  temples  like  the  fringy  edges  of  a 
little  bird's  feathers.  She  looked  troubled,  but  she 
did  not  let  even  that  appear,  very  much.  She 
never  glanced  to  see  who  noticed  her,  or  how,  but 
slipped  into  the  first  seat  and  tied  a  scarf  over  her 
head.  Somebody  told  the  conductor,  and  the  hat 
was  telegraphed  back  for,  and  sent  on  into  town 
not  many  minutes  later.  I  happened  to  be  near 
her  when  she  recovered  it  and  put  it  on  ;  and  I  saw 
how  wonderfully  charming  an  unaffected  incon- 
spicuousness  could  be." 

"  Do  you  think  you  take  that  in,  Alice,  —  the 
last  long  words  and  all?"  Margaret  asked,  with  a 


ASCUTNEY  STREET.  95 

certain  odd  intonation,  as  she  paused  again  in  her 
reading. 

"  Yes,  I  do,  mamma,"  Alice  answered  positively. 
" 1  like  that  girl,  and  I  don't  wonder  it  took  very 
particular  words  to  tell  what  uncle  Hans  thought 
about  her.  I  think  uncle  Hans  is  very  noticing, 
don't  you?" 

Jane  Gregory  sat  perfectly  motionless  in  a 
window-seat.  The  lamp  by  which  Mrs.  Sunderland 
was  reading  did  not  shine  upon  her,  for  the  curtain 
fell  partly  between.  A  slow  surge  and  swell  of  in 
tense  surprise  and  feeling  had  passed  over  her ;  she 
could  not  have  moved  or  spoken,  yet  she  thrilled 
from  head  to  foot. 

It  had  come  close  to  her  again,  that  piece  of  her 
story  ;  it  had  joined  to  it  something  incredible ;  it 
had  so  augmented  and  weighted  itself  that  ifc  could 
never  drift  away  from  her  again  into  f orgetfulness. 
Something  more  positive  belonged  to  her,  and  yet 
what  more  of  it  should  she  ever  know  ? 

She  knew  too  much  on  her  side,  little  Jane  Greg 
ory.  To  this  Doctor  Hansell,  —  how  well  she 
recollected  the  mere  title  by  which  he  had  been 
hailed  in  her  hearing,  —  it  was  all  vague  and  un- 
associated.  She  had  lent  a  touch  to  his  mental 
picture  of  an  ideal ;  her  heart  swelled  that  she 
could  have  done  that ;  but  his  ideal  and  herself,  — 
if  she  could  dare  to  think  of  them  together,  —  how 


96  ASCUTNEY  STREET. 

was  it  likely  that  ever  for  another  instant  they 
should  coexist  to  him  ? 

Mrs.  Sunderland  went  on,  resuming  rather  hast 
ily  her  reading.  Jane  recollected  afterward,  in 
some  mysterious  way,  what  now  fell  simply  on  her 
outward  ear.  Inwardly,  she  was  listening  to  such 
strange,  bewildering  things ! 

"  Rick  would  have  enjoyed  seeing  the  snagboats 
that  we  visited  at  their  work :  great,  two-beaked, 
clumsy  things  that  would  puff  and  steam  down 
upon  a  tree-trunk  sticking  out  of  the  water,  catch 
it  between  their  iron  jaws  like  a  bootjack,  and 
yank  it  up,  and  haul  it  on  board  for  firewood. 

"  Once,  we  got  caught  on  a  sandbar ;  it  was  to 
ward  the  last  of  our  down  trip ;  stayed  there  a  day 
and  a  half;  the  roustabouts  went  off  up-shore  and 
brought  pecan  nuts.  It  looked  serious  about  get 
ting  off ;  the  major  was  anxious  to  get  back  to 
headquarters,  and  some  of  us  were  in  a  hurry.  We 
began  to  think  of  having  the  yawl,  and  rowing 
down  to  a  railway  landing,  when  at  noon  the 
second  day  a  funny  thing  happened,  —  I  '11  leave 
the  moral  to  you,  Gretel,  —  another  steamboat 
came  down  river,  full  head,  a  little  river  craft, 
drawing  much  less  water  than  we.  She  saw  our 
predicament  as  soon  as  she  rounded  the  bend  in 
the  deep  water  above  ;  we  were  just  in  the  edge  of 
the  channel.  The  little  wretch  thought  to  give  us 


ASCUTNEY  STREET.  97 

the  go-by  with  a  flourish.  On  she  came,  full  rush, 
whooping,  depth  and  width  enough  for  her,  appar 
ently  ;  but,  behold  you,  the  heave  and  swell  she 
brought  with  her  rolled  beautifully  under  our  keel, 
lifted  us  up,  and  carried  us  sweeping  over,  while 
in  our  very  wake  she  drifted  exactly  into  our  old 
place,  and  stuck  there  fast.  As  we  steamed  away, 
roustabouts  shouting  and  whistle  screaming,  they 
were  getting  poles  in  rig  on  board  the  other  for 
working  off.  4  They  '11  do  well  enough,'  said  the 
major  nonchalantly.  '  Small  enough  to  swim  any 
where.'  Suggesting  that  as  a  timely  aphorism,  I  '11 
shut  up." 

"  I  'm  so  glad  I  was  n't  on  board  that  mean  little 
steamboat !  "  Rick  exclaimed,  as  his  mother  stopped. 

"  Rick  thinks  he  really  was  on  the  other,  with 
uncle  Hans,"  Alice  remarked  superiorly.  "Mam 
ma,  what  is  an  aphorism?" 

"  A  pithy  saying ;  something  said  in  a  few  words 
that  means  a  great  deal." 

"  I  think  uncle  Hans  is  a  pretty  pithy  man  some 
times,"  was  Alice's  meditative  comment,  as  she 
buttoned  her  doll's  nightgown. 

"  Are  you  tired? "  Mrs.  Sunderland  asked,  turn 
ing  to  Jane. 

"  On  the  contrary  —  I  was  thinking,"  Jane  re 
plied,  gathering  herself  back  slowly,  "  what  a  dif 
ferent  thing  living  is  —  among  live  people." 


98  ASCUTNEY  STREET. 

"  Ascutney  Street  folks  ?  " 

"Live  and  lively  may  be  quite  distinct,"  said 
Jane. 

"  Are  you  two  talking  aphorisms  ?  "  inquired 
Miss  Alice. 


CHAPTER  VII. 

I  COULD  tell  you  a  mere  story  in  three  paragraphs, 
or  even  Csesarean  phrases :  they  met ;  they  wooed  ; 
they  married ;  —  she  was  here,  in  this  strait ;  that 
happened ;  she  did  thus  and  so  ;  she  came  out  there. 
But  that  would  not  be  telling  you  the  things  that 
are  the  complexion  of  life  and  character.  Com 
plexion  is  general  hue  and  aspect,  but  it  is  made 
up  of  a  thousand  peculiarities  and  combinations  of 
texture  and  color.  I  should  not  care  two  straws 
what  eventually  became  of  Jane  Gregory,  if  I  could 
not  enter  in  beforehand  to  what  made  Jane  Gregory 
just  what  she  was. 

Her  days  with  Mrs,  Sunderland  were  crucial 
ones ;  they  brought  to  light  much  ;  they  influenced 
and  determined  much.  In  this  new  action  upon 
her  of  circumstances,  her  past  stood  clearer,  what  it 
had  bred  in  her  more  apparent.  She  was  hardly  less 
a  study  to  herself,  —  or  a  re-presentation,  —  than 
she  was  to  her  friend. 

The  soreness  and  the  weariness  that  she  had  felt, 
in  contact  with  small  pretense  and  an  unvarying 
iteration  of  petty,  external  routine  and  detail,  came 


100  ASCUTNEY  STREET. 

out  in  all  her  expression  of  herself,  and  in  her  con 
fidence  that  answered  to  unwonted  interest  and 
sympathy.  It  was  plain  that  much  of  this  soreness 
had  grown  to  be  morbid,  and  needed  to  be  broken 
up  and  worn  off;  it  interfered  with  the  highest 
and  most  essential  things ;  it  cramped  hope  and 
spirit,  and  even  faith,  as  well  as  daily  motive. 

"  Pretense,"  said  Mrs.  Sunderland,  one  day,  in 
reply  to  something  Jane  had  spoken  with  her  pe 
culiar  gentle  bitterness  that  was  not  distilled  of 
noxiousness,  but  rather  of  an  honest  wholesome- 
ness,  like  the  pungency  of  the  meek,  sturdy  little 
camomile  flower,  — "  pretense  may  be  true  or 
false." 

"  Pretense  I     True  ?  " 

"  Yes ;  or  why  do  we  emphasize  '  false  pretenses '  ? 
It  is  simply  the  taking  hold  of  beforehand  ;  and  to 
apprehend  and  appropriate  a  true  thing  beforehand 
is  just  what  we  live  for." 

Alice  sat  by,  catching  such  bits  as  she  could,  as 
usual.  "  Monkeys  are  pre-hensile,"  she  volunteered, 
with  learned  reference  to  natural  history. 

"  Very  much  so,  in  a  certain  way,"  said  her 
mother,  laughing  ;  "  that  is  partly  illustrative  of 
what  we  are  talking  about ;  people  seizing  hold  and 
lifting  themselves  up  by  their  meaner  capacities 
only.  Monkeys  drop  that,  it  is  to  be  supposed, 
when  they  get  rid  of  their  tails,  and  begin  to  de 
velop  their  brains." 


ASCUTNEY  STREET.  101 

"Mrs.  Sunderland,"  Jane  said  suddenly,  "it  is 
why  I  left  off  going  to  church !  It  seemed  —  al 
most  all  of  it  —  like  make-believe.  I  tried  different 
sorts  :  in  some  they  were  always  turning  the  Bible 
over  and  over,  settling  and  unsettling  things  — 
ideas  —  about  it ;  not  looking  right  straight  into  it, 
at  all ;  just  as  people  turn  a  letter  over  and  over, 
and  guess  about  the  date  and  the  postmark  and  the 
handwriting,  and  never  break  the  seal  to  see  what 
it  says  to  them.  And  in  others,  they  had  got  out 
of  it  —  or  with  it  —  something  that  they  had 
worked  up  into  a  set  scheme  or  ceremony,  just  as 
the  children  of  Israel  made  the  golden  calf  out  of 
all  the  earrings  and  ornaments,  and  fell  down  and 
worshiped  that,  while  Moses  was  up  in  the  moun 
tain  with  the  Lord.  It  was  exactly  the  same  that 
it  is  in  society;  people  worship  style,  and  they 
worship  church  !  And  then  you  read  such  things, 
and  hear  people  say  them,  who  won't  worship,  and 
who  are  outside  of  the  whole.  Moses  didn't  write 
his  books,  and  John  did  n't  write  his  ;  they  explain 
everything  except  how  anything  got  written  at  all, 
until  you  feel  as  if  nothing  ever  did,  and  nothing 
ever  truly  happened." 

"  My  dear  child  !  you  have  got  your  foot  in  the 
tangle  !  Just  take  hold  of  this,  and  be  sure  it  is 
true :  when  we  have  got  the  least  little  bit  of  the 
word  of  God  —  that  is  everywhere  —  into  our 


102  ASCUTNEY  STREET. 

hearts ;  when  He  really  says  it  to  us  in  ourselves, 
—  we  shall  feel  what  it  is  in  the  things  other  hearts 
have  learned  from  Him.  The  Bible  is  full  of  these 
things;  and  that  is  how  we  must  come  to  know 
them.  That  is  the  grain  of  mustard-seed  the  whole 
church  grows  up  from ;  that 's  why  the  birds  sing 
in  the  branches  !  " 

"  But  people  don't  begin  at  the  heart,  they  don't 
grow  into  it ;  they  are  n't  native  birds ;  they  are 
strange,  common,  coarse  fowls  that  only  crowd  in, 
and  roost ;  and  they  break  the  branches  down !  ' 

"  They  have  only  got  as  far  as  Ascutney  Street 
yet,"  said  Mrs.  Sunderland.  "  It  is  the  court  of 
the  Gentiles." 

"  But  will  Ascutney  Street  ever  come  to  anything 
else  ?  It  is  so  satisfied." 

"  That  is  the  hindrance,  all  through  everything. 
Ascutney  Street  is  so  apt  to  be  satisfied,  and  to 
stay.  It  likes  to  rest  in  an  effect ;  and  to  hide,  or 
to  ignore,  the  real.  It  slips  over,  covers  up,  the 
want,  the  hope,  the  struggle,  the  hard  work,  and 
assumes  the  thing  is  done.  If  one  could  catch 
them  at  it,  in  their  hearts  or  in  their  kitchens,  and 
make  them  understand  actual  values,  and  not  be 
false-faced  or  ashamed  !  " 

"  How  clear  you  see  !  That  is  just  it.  I  have 
often  admired  behind  the  scenes;  the  work,  the 
capability,  that  were  real.  I  've  saicl  to  myself,  — 


ASCUTNEY  STREET.  103 

and  almost  right  out,  —  Oh,  why  are  n't  you  proud 
of,  content  with,  that  ?  " 

"Let's  set  a  trap,  Jane,  and  catch  somebody! 
Who  do  you  think  would  be  easiest  ?  " 

Jane  laughed.  "I  don't  know  them  much,  of 
course.  I  've  been  kept  out  of  that.  But  I  should 
say  the  nicest  of  them  all  is  Miss  Rickstack.  I 
suppose  the  nicest  would  take  your  sort  of  bait  the 
quickest." 

"The  nicest  did,"  returned  Mrs.  Sunderland 
concisely.  "  But  Miss  Rickstack,  —  which  is  she  ? 
What  does  she  do  ?  " 

"  She  does  everything.  She  lives  all  alone.  She 
irons  her  clothes,  and  shakes  her  rugs  after  dark, 
and  has  a  beautiful  garden.  She  is  just  wild  after 
flowers." 

"  Well,  my  trap  will  be  to  watch  my  chance. 
Chances  are  always  happening ;  if  you  have  your 
mind  set  on  a  thing,  there  '11  be  a  way  to  it.  That 's 
what  the  proverb  means." 

"  The  4  will  and  the  way '  ?  I  thought  that  was 
just  'you  could  if  you  really  wanted  to.": 

"  All  the  same.  But  I  mean  that  the  chances 
drift  to  the  will,  —  where  there  weren't  any 
chances  before.  Make  an  object  of  anything  and 
see." 

Three  days  later,  it  happened  just  as  Mrs.  Sun 
derland  had  said.  At  bedtime,  an  express  wagon 


104  ASCUTNEY  STREET. 

stopped  at  her  gate.  A  package  for  Mrs.  Sunder- 
land,  which  she  had  expected ;  another  left  with  it, 
which  was  not  hers  at  all,  but  which  the  driver  in 
his  hurry  had  glanced  and  guessed  at,  in  the  light 
of  the  street  lamp.  It  was  directed  to  Miss  R.  L. 
Rickstack.  The  identity  of  the  first  two  initials, 
and  a  big  whiplash  loop  to  the  standard  of  the 
•'  R,"  with  the  running  likeness  in  the  surname,  in 
its  equal  number  of  tall  letters,  had  sufficed  for  the 
blunder.  It  was  a  box  from  Vick's,  long  and 
light  and  carefully  put  up  ;  roots  and  cuttings,  evi 
dently.  The  man  was  rattling  off  on  the  avenue 
before  the  mistake  was  fully  ascertained. 

"  What  did  I  tell  you  ?  "  Mrs.  Sunderland  de 
manded  of  Jane.  "  And  on  the  same  principle  I 
know  she  will  be  at  her  ironing  when  I  go  over  to 
morrow  morning." 

"  If  she  is,  there  will  be  a  scarlet  ribbon  on  the 
door-knob." 

"  I  am  not  initiated.  It  does  n't  matter  to  me 
how  people  decorate  their  door-knobs.  I  think  I 
shall  go  round  the  back  way.  I  'm  not  a  pushing 
person."  Which  from  Mrs.  Richard  Lee  Sunder 
land,  who,  if  she  pushed  any  way,  would  have  to 
push  down,  was  sufficiently  entertaining. 

It  was  a  pretty  picture  she  came  upon  the  next 
morning  at  Miss  Rickstack's,  as  she  walked  up  the 
graveled  path  to  a  sheltered  square  porch  which 


ASCUTNEY  STREET.  105 

was  really  the  kitchen  entrance,  though  far  more 
attractive  than  the  regulation  sashed  door  in  front 
with  its  lace  flutings  inside  the  glass.  As  to  the 
door-knob,  and  its  signal,  Mrs.  Sunderland  had 
slightly  changed  her  mind,  as  will  appear. 

The  secluded  spot  in  the  angle  of  the  small 
building,  of  which  the  roofed  platform  filled  one 
corner,  was  blazing  with  flowers,  all  in  one  raised 
plot,  with  a  rim  of  low-banked  sod.  In  the  middle 
of  each  side  a  tiny  footpath  just  reached  in  suffi 
ciently  to  give  access  for  the  needful  care  to  all  its 
plants.  Zinnias  and  asters,  in  clumps  of  garnet 
and  gold,  rose  and  white  and  purple,  some  shades 
and  exquisite  petalings  of  which  were  rare  enough 
even  to  Margaret,  —  with  every  tint  of  bronze  and 
yellow  in  the  splendid  nasturtium  blooms  heaping 
and  creeping  around  all  just  inside  the  grass  bor 
der,  and  tossing  their  tendrils  and  trumpets  down 
over  the  edge  upon  the  very  gravel,  —  made  a  bril 
liantly  lovely  mass  of  color.  In  the  midst  was  a 
little  forest  of  sweet  peas ;  nobody  ever  saw  ,such 
shadings  from  deep  to  faintly  delicate,  or  such 
swarms  of  butterfly  flowers,  poising  and  hovering 
and  nodding  from  twisted  columns  of  vinery.  Op 
posite,  by  the  porch  step,  was  the  low,  jeweled  bed 
of  pansies,  with  beautiful  dark  velvet  faces,  or  pale 
sweet  silken  ones,  in  tenderest  violet,  straw-color, 
creamy,  and  pure  white,  crowding  and  smiling  up- 


106  ASCUTNEY  STREET. 

ward.  A  sweet  smell  breathed  all  about ;  the  light 
was  lovely,  the  air  was  warm  and  gracious ;  on  the 
porch  a  woman,  fresh  enough  with  plain  attire  of 
cleanest  cambric,  bright,  open-air  complexion,  and 
nicely  ordered  hair,  to  stand  among  the  flowers 
without  incongruence,  was  busy  ironing ;  this  was 
Miss  Rebecca  Louisa  Rickstack. 

"  I  did  not  ring  your  bell ;  I  knew  by  the  signal 
you  were  busy ;  people  are  always  busy  in  the 
morning  ;  so  I  came  round  with  my  errand.  You 
will  excuse  me  ?  " 

Mrs.  Sunderland  stopped  before  the  platform 
step ;  she  would  not  come  further  without  an  ask 
ing. 

Miss  Rickstack  held  her  iron  poised  as  if  she 
were  so  magnetized  that  she  could  not  drop  it ;  for 
a  breath  or  two  she  made  no  answer.  In  truth,  she 
was  mentally  framing  sentences  explanatory  of  this 
conjuncture  for  Mrs.  Hilum  and  Mrs.  Turnbull; 
but  she  did  not  look  irate  or  formidable,  so  Mrs. 
Sunderland  went  on. 

"  It  was  a  mistake  of  the  expressman  ;  this  par 
cel  is  for  you,  I  think  ;  it  was  left  with  one  for  me, 
late  last  night.  I  am  Mrs.  Sunderland,  from  the 
end  cottage  ;  you  may  not  know.'* 

"  Oh,  yes,  I  do  ;  and  I  'm  sure  I  beg  your  par 
don,  and  I  thank  you  very  much,"  said  Miss  Rick- 
stack,  the  spell  upon  voice  and  muscle  relaxing,  so 


ASCUTNEY  STREET.  107 

that  she  set  her  iron  safely  on  its  stand,  and  her 
politeness  into  speech,  as  with  one  impulse. 
"  Won't  you  come  in  and  sit  down  ?  " 

Whether  she  begged  pardon  for  the  trouble  the 
expressman  had  put  her  neighbor  to,  or  that  she 
had  never  recognized  her  neighbor,  was  not  clear  ; 
but  there  was  a  certain  tone  of  release  and  plea 
sure  in  her  voice,  as  at  something  she  had  not  trans 
gressed  for,  but  was  ready  to  welcome  in  this  un 
conventional  approach. 

"  May  n't  I  stop  here  a  minute  and  enjoy  your 
flowers  ?  They  were  partly  the  reason,  to  be  so  far 
honest,  that  I  came  round  by  the  side  path.  I 
don't  think  I  ever  saw  such  flowers  !  " 

"  They  are  nice.  I  take  great  comfort  in  them, 
living  all  alone,"  said  Rebecca  Louisa,  speaking 
tenderly  of  them,  as  if  they  had  been  children,  and 
drawing  forth  a  chair  for  her  visitor's  accommoda 
tion. 

"  And  how  charming  to  do  your  work  out  here 
among  them !  Please  don't ;  I  'd  rather  sit  here, 
close  to  the  pansies,  really."  And  Mistress  Mar 
garet  placed  herself  upon  the  low  wooden  step,  her 
white  dress  sweeping  the  clean,  pebbly  walk. 

"  Well,  that  is  sociable  !  "  said  Miss  Eickstack, 
with  a  satisfaction ;  as  one  might  say,  "  This  is 
comfort,"  divesting  one's  self  of  a  tight  shoe,  or  an 
oppressive  garment.  "  I  often  wish  Ascutney 


108  ASCUTNEY  STREET. 

Street  folks  did  n't  keep  quite  so  much  to  regula 
tion  ways  and  times  —  and  card-cases.  I  'm  often 
lonesome,  when  it  isn't  calling-  hours.  Do  you 
mind  if  I  finish  this  frill  while  my  iron  's  hot  ?  " 

"  I  should  be  very  unhappy  if  you  let  it  dry  ;  it 
does  n't  do  with  fine  starched  things."  She  spoke 
as  if  she  might  have  been  a  laundress  all  her  life, 
for  any  strangeness  that  her  hostess's  occupation 
had  for  her.  "  Ironing  is  pretty  work ;  and  how 
beautifully  you  do  it !  " 

"  It  would  n't  answer  to  let  some  folks  know  I 
did  it  at  all,"  said  Miss  Eickstack,  with  a  sudden 
confidence. 

Margaret  opened  her  eyes  with  a  questioning  as, 
tonishment.  "  Really  ?  Why,  I  should  think  you 
would  be  proud.  Besides,  it  saves  so  much,  in  wear 
and  tear,  as  well  as  money." 

Miss  Rickstack  laughed.  "  I  suppose  it  does,  — 
if  you  count  it  saved  when  you  have  n't  exactly  got 
it.  I  save  a  good  deal  that  way  in  carriages,  and 
horses,  and  di'monds  ;  but  I  don't  seem  to  have  it 
all !  " 

Then  they  both  laughed.  Miss  Rickstack  was 
evidently  delighted  to  find  some  one  on  her  own 
plane  to  whom  she  could  unbosom  herself  without 
transgression.  "  I  was  a  little  in  a  hurry  to-day, 
too.  I  'm  going  off  to-morrow,  for  a  fortni't,  to  my 
sister's,  in  Ryemouth.  What  in  the  world  I  'm  to 
do  with  those  cuttings,  I  don't  see." 


ASCUTNEY  STREET.  109 

64 1  know  something  about  plants,"  said  Mrs 
Sunderland.  "  I  might  set  them  in  a  box  for  yom 
and  keep  them  watered  till  you  come  back." 

"  Would  you  ?  Why,  I  could  n't  have  asked  if: 
—  of  anybody  !  " 

"  I  'd  like  to,  very  much.  I  'm  glad  there  was  2 
mistake,  and  that  I  came." 

"  There  ain't  any  mistake  about  you ! "  said 
Miss  Rickstack  vigorously. 

"  Are  you  sure  ?  "  The  lurking  mischief  in  the 
question  was  not  in  the  least  understood. 

Miss  Rickstack  went  into  the  kitchen  to  change 
her  iron.  When  she  came  back,  she  replied, 
"  Yes ;  I  am.  You  're  straightforward.  I  like 
straightforwardness.  I  'd  like  to  be  clear  and 
above-board  myself,  about  everything,  —  ironing, 
and  sweeping,  and  all.  But  when  you  're  amongst 
folks,  you  have  to  live  the  most  part  of  your  life 
on  the  sly.  I  don't  like  it.  It's  a  great  deal 
harder  work  ;  and  it  is  n't  free-hearted.  I  'd  like  to 
do  about  everything  just  as  I  did  about  my  teeth." 

Mrs.  Sunderland  came  very  near  ejaculating  a 
repetition  of  the  last  words,  with  a  change  of  pro 
noun.  But  her  instinct  of  breeding  made  it  impos 
sible. 

"  Yes,"  Miss  Rickstack  answered  to  the  un 
spoken  interrogatory,  just  as  if  it  had  been  supplied 
as  expected. 


110  ASCUTNEY  STREET. 

"I'd  been  a  year  about  it,  —  mumble-jawed. 
When  I  got  them,  finally,  the  dentist  said  to  me, 
4  There  !  You  must  n't  mind  if  people  do  look  at 
you.  You  '11  be  strange  to  yourself  for  a  while  ; 
but  you  must  just  take  hold  and  get  used  to  it.' 
Well,  I  went  to  a  sewing-circle  that  next  day ;  I 
was  glad  to  see  people,  —  I  always  am  ;  and  I  sup 
pose  I  smiled  all  round  more  than  I  was  aware  of. 
Every  living  soul  laid  down  her  needle,  —  or  let 
her  scissors  gape  up  in  the  air,  —  or  held  her 
thread  stopped  short  in  her  own  teeth,  —  and 
looked  at  me.  Then  I  recollected  ;  but  I  made  up 
my  mind.  I  was  just  as  I  was  going  to  be  the  rest 
of  my  during  life,  and  I  and  folks  had  got  to  face 
it.  I  did  n't  mean  to  go  round  with  a  getherin'- 
thread  in  my  lips,  —  I  had  n't  done  that  when  my 
naturals  was  a-failing.  I  took  my  work  and  sat 
down  between  Miss  Caley  and  Mrs.  Basset.  That 
was  at  Ryemouth.  They  began  to  talk,  and  to 
peer  and  peek,  sideways,  tipping  their  heads  a  lit 
tle,  one  each  way,  over  their  sewing.  There  was 
going  to  be  a  wedding  in  town,  and  they  were  tell 
ing  that  the  day  was  just  set.  But  la !  they  did  n't 
know  any  more  what  they  were  talking  about  than 
you  know  this  minute.  I  looked  first  at  one  and 
then  at  the  other,  and  never  tried  to  hide  a  bit ; 
did  n't  even  put  up  my  pocket-handkerchief.  I 
thought  it  might  as  well  all  come  out  at  once. 


ASCUTNEY  STREET.  Ill 

They  were  the  ones  that  did  n't  dare  to  be  straight- 
out  and  full-faced  about  it ;  they  kept  making  little 
sharp,  quick  gimlety  screw-tinizes  !  '  Did  you  say 
it  was  going  to  be  on  the  twentieth  ?  '  says  I.  4  Oh 
—  'm  'm ! '  says  Miss  Caley,  and  gave  a  twist,  as  if 
she  was  trying  to  unscrew  the  gimlet,  but  she  could 
n't  fairly  get  her  eyes  away.  'Twentieth?'  says 
Mrs.  Basset,  on  the  other  side,  and  she  leaned 
down  and  bit  off  her  thread,  and  sent  a  determined 
sort  of  slanting  look  up  out  of  the  corners  of  her 
eyes  like  prying  with  a  crowbar  ;  '  N-o,  —  it  is  n't 
the  twentieth  ;  it 's  the  twenty-second.'  I  smiled 
as  much  as  ever  I  could,  first  one  way  and  then  the 
other,  to  treat  'em  both  alike.  '  Why  did  n't  you 
say  the  twenty-tooth  ? '  said  I.  And  after  that  I 
had  my  new  property  to  myself.  When  people 
know  all  they  can  know,  they  '11  let  you  alone." 

Mrs.  Sunderland  came  home,  sat  down  in  the 
white  room  with  Jane,  and  laughed  with  tears  in 
her  eyes.  "  She 's  bewitching !  I  'm  intimate 
with  her.  And  she 's  going  away  for  a  '  f ortni't '  ! 
So  un-iovtmt  for  me  !  " 

Jane  was  going  away  for  a  fortnight  also,  to 
keep  an  old  promise  of  "  fall  work,"  and  then  to 
return  for  some  odd  days  with  Mrs.  Turnbull,  also 
promised.  "  But  after,"  said  Mrs.  Sunderland, 
"  we  '11  all  begin  where  we  left  off  !  " 

After  a  fortnight !     When  a  day  or  an  hour  can 


112  ASCUTNEY  STREET. 

set  us  forward  to  a  life's  length  from  what  we  left 
off  with  so  confidently !  Things  were  to  happen  in 
this  fortnight. 

Mrs.  Sunderland  had  something  on  her  mind. 
A  step,  —  whether  to  take  it  or  not ;  and  she  was 
not  clear  precisely  as  to  what  hindered  her. 

It  would  be  good  for  the  children ;  just  what  she 
had  needed  for  them.  And  good  for  the  girl? 
She  had  thought  so.  Why  was  she  doubting  ? 

Margaret  was  not  fond  of  temporary  expedients 
or  relations ;  she  always  wanted  things  to  last,  at 
least  to  be  begun  with  an  intent  and  promise  of 
lasting.  Now  this  was  so  good,  —  so  much  better 
than  the  common,  —  that  it  was  becoming  evident 
to  her  that  it  would  last,  if  it  began.  How  much 
was  she  willing  to  be  responsible  for,  in  the  girl's 
own  behalf,  or  in  connection  with  herself,  under  all 
possible  circumstances  ?  How  far  would  she  risk 
setting  in  train  whatever  might  follow  such  trans 
planting  of  precisely  this  sort  of  young  woman, 
with  her  contrarieties  of  nature  and  environment, 
her  antagonisms  of  capacity  and  place  ?  She  was 
too  fine  a  creature  to  be  repressed,  of  too  tender 
and  sweet  a  womanliness  to  be  crushed.  What 
might  come  to  her,  and  how  might  she,  Margaret 
Sunderland,  stand  affected,  in  the  new  openings, 
the  contingent  occurrences,  the  —  providence  of 
God  ?  Was  that  it,  after  all  ?  Was  she  undertak- 


ASCUTNEY  STREET.  113 

ing,  in  these  ponderings  of  the  future,  what  be 
longed  only  to  omniscient  counsels  ?  What,  then, 
definitely  and  simply,  did  belong  to  her  ? 

To  do  the  good  deed,  —  to  brighten  a  life,  —  to 
"lend  "  into  it  —  as  her  little  Alice  was  so  fond  of 
saying  —  things  that  were  the  possession  of  her 
own,  and  to  gain  in  return  a  fresh,  genuine  friend 
ship,  a  help  of  love  and  intelligence  in  her  motherly 
cares,  and  the  safe  contented  consciousness  that  she 
had  not  passed  by  on  the  other  side,  when  she 
came,  as  she  journeyed,  —  not  out  of  her  way,  or  in 
a  purposed  straining,  —  to  where  the  chance  of  ser 
vice  was?  And  then  just  to  leave  all  that  might 
grow  of  it  to  the  Lord  ?  It  did  not  take  a  woman 
like  Margaret  Sunderland  long  to  settle  a  question 
with  herself  when  it  had  got  thus  far ;  it  was  no 
longer  with  herself  only. 

There  were  certain  things  she  did  not  as  yet 
know ;  perhaps  that  was  well ;  if  she  had  known 
them,  they  would  have  been  a  part  of  what  she  was 
bound  intelligently  to  consider.  She  did  the  thing 
she  felt  she  had  received  her  order  to  do.  She 
asked  Jane  if,  when  her  present  engagements  were 
ended,  she  would  return  to  herself  ;  would  make  a 
part  of  her  family,  take  her  little  children  in  per 
sonal  charge,  and  resume,  under  more  favoring  con 
ditions,  the  work  of  teaching  for  which  she  had 
been  fitted. 


114  ASCUTNEY  STREET. 

When  Jane  heard  that,  she  just  burst  into  tears. 
"  Why,  Mrs.  Sunderland !  "  was  all  she  could  say 
in  reply. 

"  Then  you  will  come,  my  dear  ?  "  Mrs.  Sunder 
land  said,  with  an  ignoring  of  the  emotion  more 
sweetly  tactful  than  any  spoken  soothing  or  assur 
ance.  It  calmed  Jane  instantly  with  its  quiet,  nat 
ural  assumption.  The  thing  was  in  a  moment  no 
longer  too  good  to  be  true,  but  so  good  that  it  had 
to  be  true. 

"  Why,  surely  I  will  I  "  she  said.  "  And  I  will 
be  as  much  to  you  as  I  am  capable  of  being.  And 
when  I  cannot  be  all  you  want,  I  will  thank  you 
and  go  away." 

"  We  will  let  by-and-by's  be  by-and-by's,"  an 
swered  Margaret  to  that. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

AT  the  end  of  the  fortnight  Jane  came  back  to 
Ascutney  Street. 

Reaching  Mrs.  TurnbulTs  house  at  about  the  tea 
hour,  she  passed  directly  to  her  room  to  take  off 
her  things,  and  make  no  delay  in  presenting  herself 
in  time,  possibly,  to  be  of  assistance. 

On  her  table  lay  a  little  note.  She  knew  already, 
as  she  knew  distinctly  everything  of  Mrs.  Sunder- 
land's  that  had  thus  far  come  under  her  observa 
tion,  the  strong,  delicate,  characterized  hand.  She 
opened  it  eagerly. 

"  This  has  been  sulphur-smoked :  no  one  need 
fear;  but  do  not  come  to  my  house  at  present. 
Little  Rick  has  diphtheria.  M.  G.  S." 

Jane  put  on  her  hat  which  she  had  just  laid  off. 
She  took  some  things  quickly  from  her  hand-bag, 
put  them  away,  and  replaced  them  with  others 
from  a  bureau  drawer.  She  wrote  two  pencil  lines 
at  the  foot  of  Mrs.  Sunderland's  note,  and  carried 
it  into  Mrs.  TurnbuH's  room,  where  she  placed  it 
open  on  the  dressing-table.  Mrs.  TurnbuH's  voice 
was  at  that  moment  to  be  heard  from  the  front 
piazza. 


116  ASCUTNEY  STREET. 

What  Jane  had  written  was  this  :  — 

"  Mrs.  Sunderland  needs  me.  I  am  sorry,  but 
will  come  to  you  as  soon  as  I  can  safely. 

JANE." 

Three  minutes  afterward,  she  had  passed  across 
the  garden,  gone  up  the  outer  stairs,  and  entered 
the  white  room.  There  she  found  Alice.  Aunty 
had  gone  to  fetch  some  supper  for  the  child.  Mrs. 
Sunderland,  with  a  trained  nurse,  was  isolated  in 
her  own  room,  taking  care  of  Rick. 

"  Why,  Queen  !  "  cried  Alice. 

"  Yes,  I  've  come,"  said  Jane.  "  I  am  going  to 
take  care  of  you." 

The  outside  door  opened  again ;  the  other  was 
fast,  battened  with  cotton.  An  excellent  thing 
that  garden  stair  was  now.  Aunty  entered. 

"  The  Good  save  us  !  "  she  ejaculated.  "  You 
here !  Be  right  off,  jest  as  quick  as  you  can.  We 
Ve  got  diptheery." 

"  I  know  it.  I  have  come  to  stay.  I  '11  take 
care  of  Alice.  You  will  have  your  hands  full." 

Aunty  sat  down,  the  little  tray  on  her  lap.  She 
did  not  speak  for  fully  a  minute.  Things  vibrated 
in  her  mind  with  anxious  force.  But  at  the  min 
ute's  end,  she  broke  forth. 

"  Well !  —  you  're  here,  —  and  I  suppose  you  Ve 
done  it!  They  won't  want  you  anywheres  else 
now,  most  likely.  If  I  'd  had  it  to  think  of,  —  I 


ASCUTNEY  STREET.  117 

should  have  been  every  which  way  in  my  mind  to 
once.  I  'm  clear  thankful  to  you,  —  though  you  'd 
no  business  to  'a'  come.  We  can  sail  straight  now, 
—  and  I  can't  stand  bein'  wee-wawed !  Alice, 
child,  here 's  crab-apple  jell  to  your  bread  and 
butter." 

It  was  a  strange  life  there  in  the  white  room  for 
many  days  after  that. 

Nothing  but  the  most  rigid  measures  would  sat 
isfy  Mrs.  Sander  land.  Now  that  Jane  was  come, 
even  Aunty,  who  held  the  most  remote  and  guarded 
communication  possible  with  the  hospital  quarter 
of  the  little  house,  was  forbidden  to  approach  them. 
All  that  they  needed  was  placed  upon  the  outer 
stair,  everything  scalded  or  fumigated  that  was 
used  by  them,  —  and  Jane  herself  did  all  the  fetch 
ing  in  and  out.  Aunty  had  the  kitchen  work ; 
the  parlors  were  unvisited ;  a  tin  cake-box,  rigged 
by  its  handles  to  a  cord  and  pulley,  went  up  and 
down  between  an  upper  and  lower  window  with 
supplies,  and  was  kept  cleansed  for  every  transit. 
No  risk  had  been  run,  since  the  nature  of  the  dis 
ease  had  declared  itself ;  and  yet  who  could  say 
what  subtle  death-atom  might  have  been  borne  ear 
lier,  through  some  unthought-of  channel,  or  even 
from  first  causes,  to  lurk  and  work  in  the  atmos 
phere  of  the  pure,  secluded  little  room,  or  might 


118  ASCUTNEY  STREET. 

float  now,  despite  all  watchfulness,  in  its  horrible 
minuteness  and  invisibility,  through  the  stirring 
and  enfolding  air,  to  be  caught  into  the  dear  little 
breath  and  life  for  whose  security  they  fought 
blindly  with  the  unknown?  At  any  moment  it 
might  reveal  itself  in  ghastly  triumph.  And  Jane 
knew  all  that,  and  had  known  it  when  she  came. 
Mrs.  Sunderland  had  sent  to  Jane  a  verbal  message 
through  her  two  assistants,  which  was  called  up  by 
Aunty  from  the  garden,  and  which  lay  warm  at 
Jane's  heart  all  through  the  time  of  anxious  quar 
antine. 

"  Tell  her  she  is  an  angel  of  God,"  had  been  the 
word  of  love  and  thanks.  Jane  treasured  it,  in  in 
most  humility  and  joy. 

"  I  am  so  glad  to  be  here !  "  she  had  sent  back, 
written  on  a  bit  of  paper. 

"  An  angel  is  but  a  messenger,"  she  said  to  her 
self  ;  "the  greatest,  or  the  least  little  one  of  all, 
even."  And  she  lifted  up  her  heart,  showing  it, 
with  the  joy  in  it,  as  the  priest  shows  the  offering 
at  the  altar,  to  Him  who  had  sent  —  no,  brought 
her  here,  in  wonderful  close  tenderness  of  giving. 

Little  letters  went  down  on  the  tray  and  up  in 
the  tin  box  to  the  mother  from  Alice,  with  word 
from  Jane  as  to  the  child's  happiness  and  well- 
being  ;  no  scrap  of  anything  tangible  returned,  but 
answers  by  word  of  mouth  traveled  back  to  them, 


ASCUTNEY  STREET.  119 

few  in  syllables,  and  such  as  could  not  be  changed 
or  forgotten  on  the  way,  so  full  and  alive  they  were 
with  that  which  impelled  them. 

A  card  was  hung  to  the  bell-knob  at  the  front 
entrance,  with  the  one  word  upon  it  in  clear,  large 
characters,  which  was  sufficient  to  turn  any  casual 
comer  aside. 

On  the  third  day  of  Jane's  stay,  however,  some 
body  came  up  the  steps  to  the  piazza,  just  after  the 
doctor's  chaise  had  driven  away. 

Miss  Rickstack  had  got  home,  had  discovered 
the  signs  of  illness,  and  had  heard  from  the  hor 
rified  and  even  resentful  neighbors  that  that  queer 
woman  had  brought  diphtheria  among  them.  "  A 
thing  that  was  never  heard  of  in  Ascutney  Street 
before  !  "  they  said  indignantly. 

"  Death  has  n't  been  heard  of  in  Ascutney  Street 
yet,  —  please  the  Lord  it  may  n't  be  now,"  said 
Miss  Rickstack.  "  But  it 's  got  to  come,  all  the 
same,  as  sure  as  there 's  livin'  folks  here  for  it  to 
come  to.  We  're  dyin'  flesh,  and  no  other  kind, 
if  we  have  got  Dutch  doors  and  Queen -Anne 
winders !  " 

And  Rebecca  Rickstack  threw  up  all  her  Ascut 
ney  Street  allegiance  at  that  rebellious  instant,  and 
within  the  hour  marched  obliquely  across  the  way, 
in  as  direct  a  line  as  she  could  make,  to  the  marked 
dwelling,  which  every  one  else  passed  by  with 
holden  breath  and  on  the  other  side. 


120  ASCUTNEY  STREET. 

At  the  door  she  paused  and  bethought  herself. 
"  Maybe  the  best  thing  I  can  do  will  be  to  help 
with  the  child  that  is  n't  sick.  And  before  I  mix 
myself  up,  I  '11  find  out." 

Saying  this  in  her  own  mind,  she  descended 
the  steps  again,  and  made  a  circuit  of  the  house 
around  through  the  side  ground  and  the  garden. 
"If  I  can't  see  anybody  at  the  winders,  I'll  go 
home  and  write  a  note,"  she  continued,  in  her 
mental  reflections. 

But  at  the  farther  end,  as  she  came  out  from 
among  the  screening  shrubbery,  she  caught  sight 
of  Jane  and  Alice  upon  the  platform  at  the  head  of 
the  garden  stairs,  sitting  there  in  two  chairs,  with 
a  little  table  between  them. 

"I  ain't  the  least  mite  afraid,"  she  called  out 
instantly  and  eagerly.  "  But  I  Ve  come  to  see 
what  use  I  can  be.  If  I  can  do  anything  to  help 
nurse,  I  '11  take  right  hold,  any  minute.  And  I 
know  about  nursin',  too.  But  if  it's  something 
else  that 's  wanted,  I  '11  keep  out  of  t'  other  and  do 
that.  See  here,"  she  went  on,  her  idea  and  purpose 
developing  as  she  spoke,  "  you  tell  Mrs.  Sunder- 
land  that  she  's  welcome  to  me  and  my  house  for 
all  we  're  worth.  There 's  nobody  to  be  hurt  there 
but  the  cat ;  and  't  ain't  ketchin'  to  cats,  I  don't 
believe.  You  say  I'd  admire  to  have  you  bring 
the  little  girl  right  over,  and  stay  as  long  as  you 


ASCUTNEY  STREET.  121 

like.  'T  would  be  a  real  good  change  for  her,  and 
she  must  be  lonesome.  I  've  got  lots  of  things  that 
I  had  fifty  years  ago,  when  I  was  little,  and  some 
twenty  years  older  than  that,  that  was  my  mother's. 
I  always  liked  them  best.  She  'd  be  amused  with 
'em,  and  I  ain't  forgot  how  to  play  with  'em, 
neither.  Maybe  you  don't  know  who  I  am.  I'm 
Miss  Rickstack,  and  I  live  over  at  The  Crocus." 

After  Miss  Rickstack  got  started,  both  ideas  and 
expressions  flowed ;  the  whole  thing  took  beautiful 
and  convincing  shape  in  thought  and  word  at  once ; 
and  was  more  convincing  to  the  listener  for  being 
thus  instant  to  herself. 

Jane  spoke  as  soon  as  she  had  a  chance.  She 
came  down  the  steps  as  she  did  so.  "  Indeed  I  will 
let  Mrs.  Sunderland  know.  You  are  as  kind  as 
you  can  be.  Yes,  —  I  know  quite  well  who  you 
are,"  —  she  came  up  to  the  good  lady  as  she  went 
on,  and  held  out  both  hands  to  her  ;  "  and  if  Mrs. 
Sunderland  approves,  I  think  it  would  be  nice  for 
Alice  to  have  the  change.  Not  altogether,  —  I 
did  n't  mean  that ;  but  to  come  sometimes.  I  will 
send  up  word  at  once." 

"  And  you  '11  give  my  love  to  her,  and  I  hope 
the  little  boy — it's  a  little  boy,  isn't  it?  —  is  get 
ting  on  well  ?  You  have  Dr.  Escue,  have  n't  you  ? 
Dr.  Rescue,  I  call  him.  He  '11  do  all  anybody  can, 
and  what  most  folks  can't."  She  shook  Jane's  two 


122  ASCUTNEY  STREET. 

hands,  which  she  had  kept  in  a  firm  grasp,  and  hav 
ing  said  her  say,  albeit  somewhat  lengthily,  made 
her  movement  to  go,  only  pausing  with  the  real 
question  in  her  face  which  she  had  merged  with  the 
rest  of  her  inquiry  in  such  intricate  fashion. 

"  Rick  is  a  strong  child,"  Jane  answered  ;  "  there 
is  good  encouragement,  I  believe ;  but  he  is  not  out 
of  danger  yet.  To-morrow  we  shall  know  more." 

"I'll  come  again  to-morrow.  Or  to-night,  or 
any  time,  if  you  want  anybody.  Or  I  '11  stay  at 
home  and  be  ready  for  you  and  "  — 

"  Alice  ?  "  Jane  supplied  the  name  with  a  heart- 
ful  tone. 

"  Yes,  and  Alice.  Just  take  The  Crocus  for 
an  annex  while  this  business  lasts.  Can  I  cook 
anything?  Can  you  think  of  anything  I  could 
fetch  over  ?  " 

"Aunty  does  everything.  But  if  there  should 
be,  you  shall.  You  are  as  good  —  Why,  there 's  a 
little  bit  of  heaven  in  Ascutney  Street,  and  I  never 
knew  it !  "  Jane's  voice  filled  up  and  broke  while 
her  face  was  bright  with  a  smile.  To  come  near  to 
people,  to  find  in  them  this  hidden  reality,  behind 
all  the  little  miserableness  she  had  hated  so,  — 
it  reproached  her  while  it  swelled  her  very  heart 
with  a  gladness  that  was  almost  a  sudden  pain. 

Mrs.  Turnbull  saw  the  pantomime  of  the  scene 
from  an  upstairs  window,  —  carefully  kept  closed, 


ASCUTNEY  STREET.  123 

—  on  what  was,  as  she  at  this  time  had  congratu 
lated  herself,  the  "  blind  side  "  o£  her  own  house. 

"  Rebecca  Rickstack  can't  keep  out  of  anything 
that 's  going  on,  not  even  diphtheria !  I  wonder 
when  she  went  and  got  so  intimate  there  ;  and  \vith 
Jane  Gregory,  too !  Squeezing  hands  and  all  but 
kissing !  /  do  give  up  !  " 

All  she  said  aloud  was  the  last  sentence  of  four 
words,  and  that  with  intense  deliberation  ;  the  rest 
had  rushed  from  her  mental  lips  only,  distinct,  if 
not  articulate.  Wliat  she  gave  up  was  not  clear 
to  herself,  perhaps ;  it  might  even  be,  as  with  ter 
rible  prognostication,  Ascutney  Street  itself  and 
altogether. 

Jane  sent  a  note  around  by  the  tray  and  Aunty 
and  the  box-lift.  Things  were  very  much  like 
"  Through  the  Looking-Glass,"  she  could  not  help 
reflecting  in  the  midst  of  her  anxieties. 

In  these  days,  she  and  Alice  lived  a  good  deal 
behind  the  looking-glass,  in  the  clever  story,  and  in 
the  suggestions  that  arose  from  it.  I  may  as  well 
put  in  here  —  although  to  the  interruption  of  what 
was  immediately  forthcoming  from  the  sending  of 
the  note  —  and  the  looking-glass  world  was  full  of 
just  such  interruptions  —  an  illustration  of  such 
demurs  and  interpretations,  on  the  one  side  and 
the  other,  as  took  place  not  infrequently  between 
the  two. 


124  ASCUTNEY  STREET. 

Alice  always  called  Jane  "  Queen." 

"  Queen,"  she  said  one  morning,  "  how  quick  you 
are !  You  dress  like  a  daisy.  The  wind  blows, 
and  the  sun  shines,  and  there  you  are,  all  ready,  as 
if  the  morning  put  your  clothes  on  for  you.  And 
you  look  so  new  every  day !  " 

Jane  laughed.  "  And  you  talk  as  a  brook  runs ; 
you  don't  go  round  hunting  for  drops  of  water ; 
they  come  from  the  sky  and  the  hills,  and  you  can't 
help  it.  But,  Alice,  that  White  Queen  was  very 
untidy ! " 

"  I  know  she  was  ;  but  that  was  the  wrong-side- 
out  part ;  that 's  the  queerness  of  the  looking-glass ; 
you  can't  tell  what  everything  meant.  But  she 
was  so  good  and  kind,  the  dear  White  Queen! 
She  had  nobody  to  'ad-dress'  but  herself,  you  know ; 
and  everything  was  crooked." 

That  turned  Jane  silent.  She  thought  all  at 
once  how  untidy  she  had  truly  often  let  herself  be, 
in  that  inside  world  where  she  was  so  alone,  and 
things  so  crooked.  She  began  to  discover  very 
keen  applications  in  the  funny  parable. 

"  4  Jam  yesterday,  and  jam  to-morrow,  and  never 
any  jam  to-day ; '  I  think  it  was  a  hard  way 
to  live,  for  a  queen,"  said  the  child,  thoughtfully 
drawing  on  her  stockings. 

Jane  came  suddenly  to  her  help,  put  her  arms 
around  her  from  behind,  and  clasped  her  close  for 


ASCUTNEY  STREET.  125 

an  instant  as  she  did  so,  burying  quick,  warm  little 
kisses  in  the  tangle  of  her  curls. 

"  Why  do  you  kiss  me,  Queen,  in  such  a  hurry  ?  " 

"Because  you're  in  behind  the  looking-glass, 
and  I  'm  so  glad  of  you ;  and  nobody  ever  came 
before,"  said  Jane. 

When  Miss  Rickstack  came  over  to  the  little 
orchard-place  below  the  steps  again,  with  a  bunch 
of  bright  carnations  in  her  hand  to  leave  for  Mrs. 
Sunderland  and  Jane,  and  two  or  three  fastened  in 
the  white  kerchief  that  was  gathered  about  her  own 
neck,  Jane  had  to  seize  a  little  inward  pang  of  jeal 
ousy  as  by  the  throat,  and  strangle  it.  It  was 
quickly,  resolutely  done,  though;  and  she  gave 
Mrs.  Sunderland's  message  of  warm  thanks,  and 
took  Alice's  other  hand  to  let  her  walk  between 
them  over  to  The  Crocus. 

"Why  here  I  am  between  the  Queens,"  cried 
Alice,  with  a  hop-skip  of  delight.  "  Every  bit  of 
it  is  coming  true.  Only  you  don't  push,  and  things 
won't  be  helter-skelter,  and  I  sha'n't  pull  the  table 
cloth  down,  nor  shake  you  into  a  kitten !  "  Which 
was  all  Greek  to  Miss  Rebecca  Rickstack,  who  did 
not  even  know  she  was  a  Red  Queen. 

Jane  left  Alice  ecstatically  happy  with  wonderful 
things  that  had  belonged  to  two  generations,  them 
selves  two  and  three  generations  back  from  the 
present. 


126  ASCUTNEY  STREET. 

Miss  Bickstack  had,  with,  reckless  lavishness  of 
resource,  set  them  all  out  at  once  upon  a  big  table ; 
but  their  various  capabilities  would  not  be  ex 
hausted  in  many  visits.  There  was  a  little  fireplace 
of  baked  clay,  with  a  chimney,  a  perfect  model  of 
the  great-grandmothers'  fireplaces  before  ranges 
and  cookstoves  were :  crane  and  hooks  and  hangers, 
pots  and  kettles,  and  irons,  tin-kitchen  and  tin- 
baker  to  set  before  the  fire.  There  was  a  tiny 
cheese-press  with  wooden  screws  ;  an  upright  churn 
and  dasher;  a  miniature  spinning-wheel.  Set 
apart  from  these  were  modernized  appliances :  a 
stove  which  would  burn  charcoal,  with  real  covers, 
boiler,  steamer,  saucepans  and  frying-pan,  and  a 
cubby  of  an  oven  in  the  side  that  would  bake  a  pie 
as  big  as  a  half  dollar,  or  a  loaf  of  bread  two  inches 
long.  In  another  group,  a  complete  little  set  of 
stuffed  drawing-room  furniture,  green,  with  gold 
bands,  a  mirror  and  a  bookcase,  all  of  a  real  old- 
fashionedness  not  old  enough  to  be  revived  in  the 
craze  of  the  new  style,  but  absolutely  forgotten. 
And  there  was  store  of  tea-set  and  dinner-set  china 
in  piles  of  plates  and  cups  and  saucers ;  these,  too, 
of  varying  patterns  and  periods,  enough  to  set  any 
little  girl's  heart  in  a  whirlwind  of  delight. 

"You  shall  make  pats  of  butter,  and  pans  of 
gingerbread  for  Rick,  as  fast  as  he  gets  better," 
said  Miss  Rickstack,  and  Alice  hovered  over  and 


ASCUTNEY  STREET.  127 

handled  the  pretty  toys  with  a  true  little  house 
wife's  lovingness  and  dainty  touch. 

"Now  will  you  keep  house  fifty  years  ago,  or 
twenty  years  ago,  or  to-day  ?  "  the  Red  Queen  was 
asking  as  Jane  turned  away,  to  go  back  to  duties 
she  was  set  free  for,  and  to  watch  and  listen 
through  the  critical  hours  upon  which  so  much  was 
hanging. 

As  she  came  in  at  the  little  lower  gate,  she  saw 
a  stranger  at  the  front  door  —  a  gentleman.  He 
had  just  dropped  the  written  card  from  his  fingers 
and  was  laying  hand  upon  the  bell-knob. 

"  If  you  please,  sir !  "  called  Jane  hurriedly, 
making  her  way  toward  the  piazza  end  across  the 
grass.  The  visitor  turned  and  walked  toward  her, 
meeting  her  at  the  side  steps.  "  I  don't  think  "  — 
arid  then  she  caught  her  breath.  The  two  looked 
at  each  other. 

"  Doctor  Hansell ! "  said  the  girl  to  herself ; 
spelling  the  name  mentally,  as  she  always  did,  with 
two  Vs. 

"  J.  G. !  "  ejaculated  Doctor  Hans,  also  mentally, 
without  any  question  of  orthography,  or  fact. 

There  she  stood,  in  what  might  have  been  the 
identical  soft  gray  dress,  a  blue  veil  tied  over  the 
fawn-brown  hair  lying  in  the  same  little  feathery 
locks  upon  the  clear,  sweet  brow.  And  there  was 
he,  the  same  strong,  upright,  manly  figure,  lifting 


128  ASCUTNEY  STREET. 

his  hat  to  her  as  he  had  done  that  long-ago  morning 
in  the  old  Bay  Line  station-house ;  the  same  kindly, 
courteous  look,  dwelling,  as  it  had  done  then,  upon 
the  face  uplifted  to  him ;  a  gleam  of  surprised  re 
cognition  added,  which  she  could  well  see,  and  to 
which  her  own  eyes  involuntarily  answered. 

Several  confused  ideas  were  flitting  through  the 
doctor's  head.  Could  he  have  mistaken  the  house  ? 
This  girl  —  J.  G.  —  belonged  here,  evidently,  —  a 
strange  coincidence !  Question,  relief,  perplexity, 
fear,  and  pleasure,  all  had  time  in  a  single  instant 
to  complicate  themselves  in  features  capable  of 
most  swift  and  delicate  differencing  of  expression. 

Jane  waited.  She  could  not  say  now  what  she 
had  begun,  of  refusal  or  inquiry.  It  was  for  Dr. 
Hansell  to  make  his  own  demand.  Beyond  that 
involuntary  glance,  neither  claimed  anything.  A 
graver  matter  had  immediate  precedence. 

"Is  this  —  I  beg  pardon  —  Mrs.  Sunderland's 
house  ?  "  came  the  question. 

"  Yes.     And  you  see  there  is  sickness." 

"I  see.  Severe?  Who  is  it?"  The  words 
were  of  telegraphic  brevity.  The  face  was  intent 
upon  hers  for  the  answer. 

"Not  desperate.  Hopeful,  I  think.  Little 
Rick."  Jane  replied,  with  as  instant  precision. 

44  Tell  her  I  am  here.  Doctor "  —  he  paused 
slightly,  hesitating  whether  to  be  so  abrupt. 


ASCUTNEY  STREET.  129 

"  I  know  —  Doctor  Hansell,"  said  Jane  Gregory. 
"  It  will  not  hurt  her.  She  will  be  glad.  Will 
you  wait  here  a  moment?  I  do  not  go  into  the 
front  of  the  house  at  all.  I  have  charge  of  Alice. 
I  will  send  some  one." 

With  which  concise  explanation  she  left  him  in 
some  unsuspected  surprise,  and  took  her  swift  way 
to  the  staircase  entrance,  and  to  communication 
from  above  with  Aunty. 

Then  it  all  came  to  him  as  he  stood  there.  The 
"  White  Queen  "  of  Gretel's  letter.  This  was  she. 
That  she  should  also  be  J.  G.,  and  why  she  should 
have  called  him  Dr.  Hansell,  were  points  to  be  put 
aside  and  thought  of  later.  A  moment  more,  and  he 
was  in  the  house ;  a  fleet  step  was  on  the  stair ;  a 
voice,  hushed,  yet  keen  with  joy,  cried,  "Hans! 
O  Hans  !  This  is  God's  sending  !  How  ?  — 
But  that  was  how  !  "  And  Margaret  had  her  arms 
about  his  neck. 

"  I  was  in  Chicago,  and  just  ran  on.  Now  let 
me  come  right  up." 

That  night  Rick  was  out  of  imminent  danger; 
but  Margaret  had  the  sickness.  "In  time;  only 
just  in  time,"  she  said,  with  fresh  thanksgiving, 
resigning  Rick  into  his  uncle's  hands,  and  giving 
herself  up  to  be  cared  for. 

Dr.  Griffith  telegraphed  to  his  comrade  in 
Sunnywater,  and  stayed  on  in  Ascutney  Street. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

"  How  easy  things  happen  when  they  once  be 
gin  !  "  said  Miss  Rickstack,  "  and  then,  again,  they 
won't  start  for  a  lifetime." 

"  Just  so,"  said  Aunty.  "  When  you  're  ready, 
they  come ;  when  you  're  unready,  they  tarry,  and 
you  all  slumber  and  sleep.  Who  knows  how  much 
sooner  —  But  I  won't  take  liberties  with  Scripcher. 
All  /want  is  to  see  a  straight  way,  and  happen- 
in's  likewise,  as  if  they  was  sent,  and  did  n't  jest 
tumble.  Then  I  don't  care  which  way,  —  least  I 
try  not  to.  But  there 's  a  great  many  wee-waws, 
hither-an'-yons,  and  criss-cross,  till  you  can't  see 
what  Providence  itself  is  up  to.  And  in  your  own 
mind  the  worst ;  whether  to  do,  or  whether  you  Ve 
done  ;  and  thinking  whether  you  Ve  done  is  awful !  " 

Miss  Rickstack  and  Aunty  were  great  friends  in 
these  days ;  but  these  days  were  a  little  further  on. 
There  had  been  some  hard  "  wee-waws  "  first.  One 
was  the  night  when  Margaret  was  at  the  worst,  and 
the  nurse  was  worn  out,  and  only  Doctor  Hansel 
fit  to  watch  either  patient.  "  And  he  would  n't  be, 
only  he  's  a  man,"  said  Aunty,  with  touching  confi- 


ASCUTNEY  STREET.  131 

dence  in  the  strength  of  the  stronger  sex.  She 
and  Jane  still  called  the  doctor  by  his  fairy-tale 
name,  Aunty  from  habit,  Jane  from  mistake,  just 
touched  with  a  doubt  that  there  was  a  mistake 
somehow.  When  she  could,  without  confusing 
him  with  Dr.  Escue,  she  used  only  the  medical  ti 
tle. 

"  It 's  a  wee-waw,"  Aunty  said ;  "  only  it  won't 
swing  clear  e'er-a-way,  more  'n  an  inch." 

Jane  gave  it  a  push.  "  We  will  leave  Alice 
over  at  The  Crocus,  and  I  '11  go  up,"  she  said. 
"  We  must  do  the  best  thing,  and  that  is  it." 

"  She  can't  come  back  again !  "  cried  Aunty,  in 
amazement. 

"  Of  course  not.  But  I  must  take  the  responsi 
bility  now.  She  is  perfectly  safe  and  happy.  Mrs. 
Sunderland  will  approve  when  —  she  knows." 
There  was  a  sob  in  the  break  between  the  words, 
but  it  was  kept  down  with  a  brave  face. 

Aunty  could  not  so  well  hold  back  the  emotion 
to  which  the  contagion  of  Jane's  gave  release. 
She  sat  down  on  the  lower  step  of  the  garden  stair, 
whence  she  had  held  counsel  with  Jane  at  the  top, 
and  put  her  face  between  her  hands  upon  her 
knees.  "  Don't  speak  to  me  !  "  she  choked  forth 
with  very  poor  disguise  ;  "  I  'm  —  think  —  ing  !  " 

Jane  stepped  back  into  the  white  room  ;  a  mo 
ment  after,  when  she  came  forth  again,  Aunty  was 


132  ASCUTNEY  STREET. 

on  her  feet,  pouring  from  a  broken-nosed  pitcher 
some  carbolized  water  upon  the  step  where  she  had 
been  sitting.  "  'T  ain't  my  resk,  either  way,"  she 
was  saying;  "nor  sha'n't  be.  Don't  come  down 
till  I  'm  clear  off,"  she  called  up  hurriedly.  "  I 
might  forget,  if  you  was  within  arm's  reach,  you 
—  dear,  blessed,  contrary  creechur  !  " 

That  night,  when  the  hush  and  dusk  had  settled 
upon  the  sick  -  rooms,  —  the  night-lamps  placed, 
the  nurse  gone  to  bed  for  a  three  hours'  rest, 
and  Kick  in  his  first  sleep,  —  Dr.  Griffith,  pass 
ing  along  the  little  corridor  to  his  sister's  room, 
saw  the  swing-door  to  the  long  L-passage  gently 
slip  ajar,  and  a  white  figure  enter  noiselessly 
from  beyond.  Jane  Gregory  met  him,  in  soft, 
silent  raiment,  straight  skirts  and  sacque-wrap  of 
starchless  cambric,  fresh  ones  upon  her  arm  to  re 
place  with,  and  a  little  linen  bag  in  her  hand.  She 
stopped,  just  over  the  rubicon,  when  she  saw  him. 

"  You  here  !  Miss  "  —  began  Dr.  Hansell. 

"  Yes.  I  am  Jane,"  the  girl  answered  low.  "  1 
have  come  to  stay  with  Rick.  I  knew  somebody 
was  needed." 

"  But  —  I  don't  know  what  to  do  with  you  !  " 
The  tone  in  which  the  doctor  was  obliged  to  speak 
was  inadequate  to  express  his  half-annoyed,  en 
tirely  perplexed  astonishment. 

"  There  is  nothing  for  you  to  do,"  Jane  answered, 


ASCUTNEY  STREET.  133 

"except  to  put  up  with  me."  In  the  dim  light  he 
saw  that  she  smiled  quietly.  "  I  shall  sit  by  Rick. 
The  nurse  can  sleep,  and  you  will  have  only  Mrs. 
Sunderland."  She  moved  forward  to  pass  on. 

"  What  have  you  done  with  Alice  ?  You  can't 
go  back,  you  know." 

"  I  know.  She  is  at  Miss  Rickstack's.  She 
can  stay." 

"  The  best  place  for  her,"  said  the  doctor  briefly. 
"  You  have  left  me  nothing  to  object  to  —  except 
—  yourself.  And  now  we  must  leave  that  where 
we  leave  everything  we  can't  help.  You  are  a 
brave  woman,  Jane." 

She  had  given  him  nothing  else  to  call  her  by 
but  her  little  Christian  name.  He  might  have  left 
that  off ;  but  that  he  did  not  sent  a  curious  feeling 
through  Jane's  consciousness.  It  was  as  if  he  had 
taken  her  by  the  hand. 

"  If  there  are  any  particular  directions  "  —  she 
began,  as  she  went  by  into  the  doorway  of  Rick's 
room,  where  she  turned  and  paused.  But  the  doc 
tor  came  in  also.  He  put  something  into  a  glass 
with  water,  and  told  her  to  drink  it.  Then  he 
prepared  another  similar  portion,  which  he  covered 
and  set  upon  the  mantel.  "  Take  that  at  twelve 
o'clock,"  he  said.  "  Give  Rick  a  teaspoonful  of 
this  upon  the  table  every  hour  when  awake.  Offer 
him  milk  also.  It  is  in  the  little  cooler.  Water 


134  ASCUTNEY  STREET. 

when  he  asks  for  it.  I  shall  be  in  once  or  twice 
before  morning.  Keep  him  as  quiet  as  possible. 
Sleep  before  everything."  With  these  brief  sen 
tences,  he  went  away. 

He  had  treated  Jane  precisely  as  she  chose  to  be 
treated.  He  had  understood,  and  had  taken  her 
at  her  word.  She  felt  received  into  confidence  and 
trust.  More :  she  had  entered  into  rapport  with  a 
high,  strong,  sincere  nature. 

In  the  two  adjoining  rooms  these  two  sat,  anx 
ious,  intent  upon  their  watch,  yet  singularly  con 
scious  of  each  other  ;  wondering,  each  how  the 
other  had  again  come  in  the  way,  and  now  so 
closely. 

In  the  morning,  Mrs.  Sunderland  was  easier ; 
the  doctor  came  and  treated  Rick's  throat,  which 
was  nearly  in  its  normal  condition.  Jane  was  not 
tired ;  she  knew  how  to  take  even  watching  with  a 
certain  repose  of  nerve.  The  nurse  had  had  full 
rest,  and  resumed  her  post  with  Mrs.  Sunderland  ; 
Dr.  Griffith  went  off  for  a  nap  ;  Jane  stayed  with 
Rick,  and  told  him  little  inexciting  stories.  The 
child  was  happy.  His  mother  did  not  know  that 
Jane  was  there. 

Dr.  Griffith  managed  to  learn  somehow  the  rest 
of  Jane's  name  ;  the  next  time  he  had  occasion  to 
make  use  of  it,  he  addressed  her  as  Miss  Gregory. 
She  was  not  a  housemaid,  nor  a  nursemaid;  she 


ASCUTNEY  STREET.  135 

felt  the  delicate  respect  and  courtesy;  but  she 
liked  to  remember  that  once  saying  of  "  Jane." 
For  her  part,  she  had  found  out  no  more  concern 
ing  his ;  she  had  got  used  to  thinking  of  him  as 
Dr.  Hansell,  and  she  did  not  care  ;  it  was  easy 
enough  to  call  him  "  Doctor."  Of  course  he  was 
Mrs.  Sunderland's  near  relative  ;  her  brother, 
doubtless ;  but  what  Mrs.  Sunderland's  maiden 
name  had  been  she  did  not  know.  It  was  pleasant 
—  she  did  not  ask  herself  why  —  still  to  think  of 
him  as  Dr.  Hansell.  She  was  in  no  hurry  to  begin 
her  acquaintance  with  him  over  again  under  a 
strange  appellation  ;  "  Dr.  Hansell "  held  all  her 
associations  thus  far. 

She  was  considering  far  more  another  circum 
stance  which,  indeed,  at  this  juncture  did  not  matter 
much,  but  would  trouble  her  honesty  by  and  by. 
That  she  knew  a  little  more  of  Mrs.  Sunderland's 
brother  than  Mrs.  Sunderland  was  aware  of,  — 
that  she  was  keeping  to  herself  the  fact  of  that  first 
meeting,  —  that  recognition  of  herself  in  the  doc 
tor's  little  written  story  of  it,  —  all  this  must  be 
held  account  with  by  and  by.  She  was  very  con 
scious  that  it  had  not  been  a  light,  forgotten  mat 
ter  with  her ;  if  it  had  been,  it  would  not  be  pre 
senting  itself  as  a  stern  question  of  candor  now. 
But  these  things  waited. 

What  Dr.  Griffith  thought  did  not  appear. 


136  ASCUTNEY  STREET. 

On  the  second  day,  all  possible  precautions 
taken,  he  had  Jane  and  Rick  transferred  to  the 
white  room,  where  he  watched  over  their  well-being 
by  open-air  colloquies  on  the  staircase,  and  by  mi 
nute  directions  for  Jane's  proceeding  and  observa 
tion  with  the  child  and  with  herself. 

Always  quiet,  always  simple  and  direct,  there 
was  nothing  in  Jane's  manner  but  earnest  atten 
tion  and  entire  occupation  with  the  duties  in  hand. 
Sometimes,  notwithstanding  that  first  electric  look 
that  he  knew  had  shot  between  them,  he  very 
nearly  doubted  if  she  positively  remembered.  But 
he,  no  more  than  she,  passed,  by  any  word  or  sign, 
the  limits  which  the  present  time  imposed. 

For  the  by-and-by  a  question  waited  with  the 
doctor  also,  which  was  fast  taking  shape  as  a  deter 
mination.  He  had  time  to  arrange  his  tactics 
clearly  in  his  own  mind  ;  that  was  where  he  had 
advantage  of  the  girl.  She  would  have  to  be  taken 
by  surprise  whenever  and  however  he  might  make 
allusion  or  inquiry. 

It  came  the  day  before  Mrs.  Sunderland  was  to 
go  downstairs  again.  There  was  no  more  time  to 
lose. 

The  doctor  met  Jane  as  she  took  her  little  con 
stitutional  among  the  apple-trees.  Dr.  Escue  had 
just  left,  his  visits  ended  with  this  one  ;  things 
were  glad  and  bright  in  the  little  house  now  ;  they 


ASCUTNEY  STREET.  137 

were  going  to  be  very  busy.  Final  fumigating  and 
cleansing,  —  one  part  at  a  time  ;  then  packing  and 
moving,  for  a  change  was  prescribed  and  imper 
ative.  Whither,  Jane  did  not  know,  nor  how  far 
it  would  concern  herself  ;  she  had  a  talent  for  not 
asking  questions. 

"  Good-morning,  Miss  Gregory." 

"  Good-morning,  Doctor." 

"  You  have  not  got  farther  aU  this  time  than  the 
handle  to  my  name.  I  have  never  been  properly 
presented.  Yours  had  n't  one,  —  suitably  avail 
able,  —  so  I  was  obliged  to  inform  myself.  Dr. 
Griffith,  at  your  command,  Miss  Gregory."  And 
the  doctor  lifted  his  hat  and  bowed. 

Jane  laughed  gently,  frankly ;  at  the  same  time 
she  too  bent  her  head.  "  Thank  you,"  she  replied. 

"Do  you  mind  telling  me,"  said  Dr.  Griffith, 
with  something  of  a  quiet,  professional  method  of 
steadily  working  to  a  point,  "  how  you  happened 
at  first  to  call  me  Dr.  Hansell  ?  " 

"  Did  you  notice  that  ?  "  asked  Jane,  a  little  dis 
turbed.  "I  —  The  children  called  you  so,  Dr. 
Griffith." 

"  Yes.  Before  you  saw  me,  —  before  I  came,  I 
mean.  How,  please,  did  you  identify  me  ?  " 

This  was  a  bad  corner  ;  from  which  Jane  came 
straight  out. 

"  If  you  please,  Dr.  Griffith,  I  would  rather  not 


138  ASCUTNEY  STREET. 

tell  you  that.  I  cannot  quite  explain  it  now."  It 
was  said  with  the  shyest  deference,  and  yet  with 
a  sweet  courage  of  directness,  her  eyes  raised  con 
fidently  to  the  courtesy  in  his. 

Dr.  Griffith  bowed  again.  He  treated  her  as  if 
she  were  a  princess,  this  rare,  high-mannered  gen 
tleman. 

"  1  think  you  are  a  very  spirit  of  truth,"  he  said. 
"  And  truth  has  it  all  her  own  way.  The  eternal 
years  are  hers.  I  will  wait."  He  smiled.  And 
then  he  began  to  tell  her  what  he  and  his  sister 
had  decided. 

"  We  are  all  to  go  away,"  he  said.  "  A  little 
salt -air  tonic,  an  out-of-door  life  awhile  in  this 
beautiful  weather,  is  what  you  must  all  have."  As 
if  Jane  were  really  one  of  them  ! 

"  There  is  a  little  place  down  among  the  rags 
and  fringes  of  the  Maine  coast  that  we  know,  — 
that  my  brother-in-law  leased  one  summer,  and 
that  we  can  have  again,  —  Leeport  Island ;  only 
three  houses  on  it.  Cliffs,  and  sea,  and  beach,  and 
woods,  all  in  a  strip  of  a  mile's  length  by  a  half 
mile  in  width  at  the  broadest.  Shall  you  like 
it?" 

Again  that  making  her  of  importance  ;  that 
counting  her  in,  not  merely  by  permission,  but  as 
a  motive.  She  was  to  be  thought  of,  also ;  cared 
for.  Jane's  eyes  shone  with  more  than  pleasure. 


ASCUTNEY  STREET.  139 

"  You  are  good"  she  said  with  her  simple  empha 
sis. 

Dr.  Griffith  answered  nothing  to  that ;  he  very 
slightly  raised  his  hat  again  and  went  away. 

There  was  nothing  in  the  colloquy  to  neighbor 
ing  eyes,  —  and  the  eyes  were  not  wanting,  —  be 
yond  the  highly  interesting  and  suggestive  daily 
movements  about  the  isolated  and  guarded  house. 
What  this,  that,  and  the  other  meant  in  the  pro 
ceedings  and  precautions  casually  apparent  was  a 
wonderfully  sustaining  object  in  life  just  now  to 
Mrs.  Turnbull,  interrupted,  as  she  was,  in  the  ordi 
nary  autumn  absorption  of  wardrobe  readjustment. 
The  "  blind  side "  of  her  dwelling  was  vantage- 
ground  for  keenest  observation. 

In  a  few  days,  Jane  came  as  far  as  the  fence, 
and  opened  parley.  The  washerwoman  was  hang 
ing  linens  upon  the  line,  and  with  message  by  her 
Mrs.  Turnbull  was  summoned. 

She  came  cautiously  as  far  as  the  larch-tree. 

"  Everything  has  been  scalded  and  fumigated, 
and  we  are  all  well  again.  You  need  not  be  at  all 
afraid,"  said  Jane.  "  But  I  thought  I  would  not 
come  until  you  knew." 

"  Oh,  I  'm  not  afraid  ;  but  then  it 's  always  well 
enough  to  be  careful.  It 's  been  a  pretty  serious 
thing  in  the  neighborhood,  this  sickness." 

"  In  the  neighborhood,  —  yes,"  said  Jane  ;  "/or 


140  ASCUTNEY  STREET. 

the  neighborhood,  there  has  been  no  danger.  Ev 
erybody  has  been  careful." 

"  Everybody  except  Rebecca  Rickstack,"  Mrs. 
Turnbull  replied,  accepting  the  commendation.  "  I 
really  think  the  Board  of  Health  ought  to  have 
interfered  with  her.  Back  and  forth,  trailing  mi 
crobes  up  and  down  the  sidewalk !  Is  the  little 
girl  there  now  ?  " 

"  She  sleeps  and  eats  there.  She  came  to  see 
her  mother  yesterday." 

"  And  you  Ve  been  in  the  end  room,  have  n't 
you?  Taking  your  meals  in  from  the  stairs? 
And  who  was  that  you  talked  to,  on  the  steps,  and 
in  the  garden  ?  " 

"  Aunty  ?  "  asked  Jane  naughtily. 

"Aunty!  As  if  I  didn't  know  her  I  The 
man." 

"  That  was  the  doctor." 

"Not  Dr.  Escue?" 

"  No.  The  other  one.  He  stayed  all  the  time, 
after  the  worst  began." 

Dr.  Griffith  had  betaken  himself  to  the  city  for 
lodgings  since  the  recoveries  were  certain.  True 
as  she  was,  Jane  did  not  feel  obliged  to  explain 
everything  to  Mrs.  Turnbull. 

"  He  's  a  mighty  polite  man.  Lives  mostly  with 
his  hat  in  his  hand,  I  should  think.  What 's  his 
name  ?  " 


ASCUTNEY  STREET.  141 

"  He  is  always  polite,"  remarked  Jane,  in  acqui 
escence.  "  They  have  ordered  us  off,"  she  made 
haste  to  say,  and  to  transfer  Mrs.  Turnbull's  soli 
citudes  to  her  own  affairs.  "  And  that  is  my  errand 
now.  I  hope  you  won't  think  I  've  deserted  you, 
but  maybe  you  'd  as  lief  have  me  after  I  have  been 
away  among  the  sea  breezes." 

"  That 's  it,  is  it  ?  Well,  I  can  get  along  some 
how  ;  I  suppose  I  must.  What 's  Miss  Kickstack 
going  to  do  to  get  aired  off  ?  I  don't  think  she 
need  put  out  her  red  ribbons  yet  awhile,  anyway. 
Ascutney  Street  folks  won't  trouble  her  much  at 
present." 

"  Miss  Rickstack  is  to  go  with  us,"  said  Jane. 

"  Where  ?  "  demanded  Mrs.  Turnbull,  staring. 
Jane  stated  briefly. 

A  little  bell  tinkled  from  the  white  room  window, 
and  she  turned  to  go. 

"  Well,  I  do  give  up,"  came  after  her,  in  solemn 
intonation. 

But  Mrs.  Turnbull  did  not  give  up.  She  was 
never  farther  from  it.  She  struggled  with  the  sur 
prise  and  problem  all  day.  When  Mr.  Turnbull 
came  home,  she  presented  the  subject  to  him,  in 
her  habitual  inverted  fashion. 

"  I  never  thought  Rebecca  Louisa  Rickstack  was 
quite  a  fool,  before,"  she  observed,  handing  her 
husband  his  second  cup  of  tea.  "  It  is  certainly  a 
most  astonishing  thing." 


142  ASCUTNEY  STREET. 

"  That  a  woman  should  be  a  fool  ?  or  that  you 
should  find  a  fool  out  ?  " 

"  I  don't  see  how  she  can  ever  have  the  face  to 
come  into  Ascutney  Street  again  !  " 

"Perhaps  she'll  back  in.  It  is  an  impressive 
way  to  do  anything." 

"  I  don't  know  what  you  mean."  said  Mrs.  Turn- 
bull,  aware  that  her  husband  was  chaffing  her  as 
usual,  but  missing  the  point. 

"  There  we  are  in  perfect  sympathy,  my  dear. 
Did  n't  you  forget  the  sugar  in  this  tea  ?  " 

"  She  's  going  off  with  those  Sunderlands  —  and 
Jane  Gregory  —  to  some  little  down-east  place  that 
they  came  from,"  said  Mrs.  Turnbull,  pouring  out 
her  news  and  a  ladleful  of  sugar,  at  one  dash,  into 
Mr.  Turnbull's  ears  and  his  extended  cup.  Mr. 
Turnbull  drew  back  with  what  he  had  received,  and 
tasted  his  amended  beverage  —  and  intelligence  — 
in  silence. 

"  Folks  might  have  got  over  what  she  did,  off 
hand,  in  time  of  sickness,  if  it  had  stopped  there. 
But  this  is  in  cold  blood." 

"  Diabolical.     I  mean  the  tea.    But  no  matter." 

"  You  're  a  very  funny  man,"  said  his  wife,  with 
severe  irony.  "  Everybody  thinks  so.  But  every 
body  does  n't  know  what  it  is  to  have  to  live  all 
the  time  with  a  funny  man,  and  tell  him  things  in 
earnest." 


ASCUTNEY  STREET.  143 

"  Perhaps  if  you  could  be  just  a  little  less  in  ear 
nest,  —  it 's  hard  for  a  person  sensitive  to  impres 
sions  to  stand  too  much,  you  know,"  and  Mr. 
Turnbull  sipped  ruefully  his  over-sweetened  tea. 
"  But  4  telling  things  in  earnest '  is  good.  I  like 
that.  It 's  apt  to  be  a  woman's  way ;  and  a  man 
has  to  be  funny,  or  otherwise." 

"  Wait  till  you  hear  what  Mrs.  Inching  will  say," 
answered  his  wife  undivertedly. 

"I'm  not  obliged  to  hear  that ;  I  'm  not  Mr. 
Inching."  He  left  the  table,  and  lighted  his  cigar. 
A  woman  has  no  such  refuge.  It  would  not  have 
been  a  refuge  for  a  woman  like  Mrs.  Turnbull. 
She  could  not  so  have  broken  off  an  argument. 


CHAPTER  X. 

Two  things  Dr.  Griffith  had  said  to  Jane  Greg 
ory,  which  would  have  remained  her  possession, 
though  he  should  never  have  spoken  to  her  again. 
He  had  said  that  she  was  a  brave  woman ;  he  had 
called  her  a  very  spirit  of  truth.  But  it  began  to 
be  a  trouble  in  her  mind,  the  doubt  whether  she 
were  continuing  either. 

Several  times,  now,  she  had  sat  alone  with  Mrs. 
Sunderland,  when  there  had  been  opportunity,  so 
far  as  that  went,  to  have  explained  to  her  the  one 
fact  which  she  felt  the  latter  had  a  right  to  know. 
But  the  declaration  assumed  so  much  in  the  very 
making,  that  it  interposed  an  impossibility.  How 
was  she,  an  unpretending  earner  of  her  bread,  — 
now,  indeed,  in  Mrs.  Sunderland's  own  employ,  — 
to  presume  to  make  it  of  consequence  that  she  had 
met  the  lady's  brother,  Dr.  Griffith,  two  years  be 
fore  ;  that  he  had  then  rendered  her  a  trifling  inci 
dental  service,  and  that  she  had  remembered  it  and 
him  ever  since?  That  she  had  understood,  and 
taken  to  herself,  all  that  he  had  said  in  that  letter ; 
that  she  had  known  him  the  moment  she  had 


ASCUTNEY  STREET.  145 

met  him;  and  that  she  had  kept  silence  until 
now? 

Every  day  made  it  harder.  And  yet  Mrs.  Sun- 
derland  ought  to  know.  To  continue  to  hold  it 
back,  Jane  felt,  was  to  make  it  increasingly  signifi 
cant.  Significant  to  herself.  Jane  was  conscious 
of  that  reality,  and  did  not  mean  to  suffer  it.  If, 
indeed,  Dr.  Griffith  had  forgotten  —  but  she  was 
well  aware  that  he  had  not.  It  must  be  done  ;  and 
yet  she  must  do  it  with  as  little  show  and  forcing 
of  purpose  as  might  be.  So  it  was  but  just  before 
the  flitting  from  Ascutney  Street  that  time  and 
way  came  to  her. 

She  was  helping  Mrs.  Sunderland  pack  a  large 
box  that  was  to  go  to  Bay  Hill.  Jane  knew  about 
Bay  Hill,  now ;  at  the  end  of  its  summer  lease 
Mrs.  Sunderland  would  return  there  for  the  pres 
ent ;  Dr.  Griffith  had  persuaded  her.  Ascutney 
Street  was  to  be  given  up. 

The  two  sat  together,  quietly  busy,  folding  and 
placing.  The  children  were  at  Miss  Kickstack's ; 
Dr.  Griffith  was  in  town. 

"  I  should  never  have  undertaken  this  but  for 
my  brother,"  Margaret  said,  a  little  wearily.  "  It 
is  so  good  of  him  to  stay  and  see  us  settled.  But 
I  know  it  will  do  him  good  also.  He  cannot  live 
altogether  without  sea  air.  He  is  barely  amphib 
ious  as  to  climate,  and  will  always  have  to  come 


146  ASCUTNEY  STREET. 

east  of  the  Alleghanies  to  store  up  native  atmos 
phere,  he  says.  And  just  now  there  is  a  young 
medical  man  out  near  Sunnywater,  to  whom  he  has 
lent  a  start,  as  he  calls  it.  He  manages  to  make 
the  wind  blow  both  ways,  —  ill  to  nobody." 

"  I  think  Dr.  Griffith  is  always  good,"  said  Jane 
calmly.  But  her  head  was  pretty  well  over  in  the 
packing-box.  When  she  lifted  it  up,  and  sat  fac 
ing  Mrs.  Sunderland,  her  hands  for  a  moment  lay 
quietly  upon  her  lap,  while  her  friend  hesitated  be 
tween  certain  next  parcels.  She  would  not  say 
her  next  words  under  cover,  as  if  she  needed  any. 

"  It  was  Dr.  Griffith  —  I  was  the  girl,  I  mean, 
whose  hat  blew  off  upon  the  train,  once,  and  he 
got  it  for  her.  There  were  a  hundred  people  there, 
but  only  one  Dr.  Griffith." 

Then  she  took  the  package  in  order  and  put  it 
down  into  the  box,  directly  to  the  best  place,  fitting 
it  in  with  perfect  care  and  attention.  She  turned 
to  receive  another,  with  the  same  honest  self-com- 
rnand,  although  the  silence  of  a  half  moment  in 
which  she  did  so  seemed  long  to  her.  Of  what  was 
Mrs.  Sunderland  thinking  ? 

"  Then  you  recognized  the  details  of  that  little 
story  for  Alice  —  in  the  letter?"  In  the  slowness 
with  which  the  question  came,  and  was  uttered, 
Jane  perceived  precisely  what  she  had  expected : 
that  another  question  lay  behind,  which  she  knew 


ASCUTNEY  STREET.  147 

Mrs.  Sunderland  would  not  like  to  put  to  her 
downrightly,  —  "  Why  did  you  not  tell  me  then  ?  " 

"  I  recognized  the  things  that  happened,  —  and 
Dr.  Griffith,"  Jane  replied,  without  embarrass 
ment.  "  He  made  it  rather  hard  for  me  to  recog 
nize  myself." 

"  What  a  good  packer  you  are,  Jane !  "  said  Mrs. 
Sunderland. 

Jane  looked  a  little  surprised  at  the  sudden 
turn ;  but  it  was  no  turn  at  all.  Mrs.  Sunderland 
only  applied  to  Jane's  sentences  an  illustration 
from  her  obvious  work.  Everything  had  been 
gotten  into  them.  Every  fact  that  it  was  her  own 
right  to  know  was  there,  at  her  service,  but  in  as 
little  extension  as  possible.  Care  had  been  taken 
to  present  the  whole  truth ;  but  conclusions  had 
been  left  to  take  care  of  themselves.  There  was  no 
secret  now,  in  Jane's  memory,  concerning  Dr.  Grif 
fith  ;  she  made  no  secret  of  her  own  appreciation  of 
him  ;  she  explained,  without  explaining,  how  im 
possible  it  must  have  been  for  her,  at  the  moment, 
to  claim  all  that  the  story  in  the  letter  said  of  the 
girl  about  whom  it  was  told.  The  rest  she  left  to 
Mrs.  Sunderland,  with  that  reposefulness  of  an  en 
tire  unconcealment  which  was  mere  relief  to  Jane, 
but  which  Mrs.  Sunderland  was  more  than  half  un 
certain  whether  to  set  down  to  personal  unconcern 
or  not.  She  felt  almost  rebuked  by  Jane's  pure 


148  ASCUTNEY  STREET. 

directness  for  the  slight  obliquity,  the  little  ten- 
tativeness,  that  had  been  in  her  own  first  leading 
observation. 

For  Dr.  Griffith  had  already  told  his  sister  all 
that  Jane  had  now,  to  Mrs.  Sunderland's  better 
satisfaction,  volunteered.  Soon  after  her  conva 
lescence  had  begun,  he  had  acquainted  her  with  the 
circumstances  —  very  "  like  a  story,"  Margaret 
said  —  which  had  brought  him  first  to  Chicago, 
and  thence  home. 

A  young  fellow,  who  had  been  in  Colorado  for 
the  benefit  of  his  health,  had  been  very  ill  at  Den 
ver,  and  when  as  far  on  his  way  back  as  Sunny- 
water  had  suffered  a  dangerous  relapse.  Dr.  Grif 
fith  had  attended  him  ;  had  found  that,  though  he 
could  help  him  to  such  a  degree  of  convalescence 
as  might  make  it  possible  for  him  to  reach  home,  it 
would  be  a  painful,  hazardous  journey,  and  there 
was  no  ultimate  hope.  The  boy,  who  was  but 
twenty,  and  had  conceived  the  clinging  attachment 
to  the  doctor  which  his  character  and  service  in 
such  loneliness  and  need  had  naturally  drawn 
forth,  begged  him  to  see  him  safe  through.  "  My 
father  will  make  it  as  right  as  he  can,"  he  had 
said  ;  and  the  expression  which  simply  meant  the 
inadequacy  of  money  to  make  it  even  at  all,  Dr. 
Griffith  had  put  aside  as  significant  of  some  par 
tial  limit  in  the  means ;  and  for  that  very  rea- 


ASCUTNEY  STREET.  149 

son,  white  knight  as  he  was,  had  left  the  Sunny- 
water  business  to  the  hands  of  his  associate,  had 
taken  the  youth  to  his  father,  and  had  watched 
with  the  old  man  by  the  death-bed  which  proved, 
as  he  had  feared,  the  goal  of  the  journey. 

To  his  astonishment,  the  old  gentleman  handed 
him  on  his  departure,  not  only  a  check  which  was 
ample  remuneration  for  medical  services  and  time, 
but  papers  which  transferred  to  him  the  value  of 
ten  thousand  dollars,  "  at  the  request  of  his  boy," 
he  said,  "  whose  separate  bit  of  property  it  was  by 
a  legacy,  and  which  he  could  not,  as  a  minor,  be 
queath  by  will.  Take  it,"  the  old  man  had  said  to 
his  remonstrance.  "  I  am  solitary  now,  and  I  have 
two  hundred  times  as  much  that  must  go  some 
where  to  help  strangers  ;  and  you  are  no  stranger." 

So  Dr.  Griffith  had  come  on  east  for  his  holiday, 
and  storage  of  Atlantic  atmosphere,  having  tele 
graphed  to  his  friend,  "  Shall  be  away  a  week  or 
two  longer.  Hold  on  at  Sunnywater  for  good." 

"  I  was  glad,"  he  said,  "  to  be  able  to  settle  that. 
I  Ve  taken  a  fancy  to  him ;  he  's  a  kind  of  Tom 
Thurnall,  —  a  born  naturalist  and  chemist;  just 
the  fellow  to  take  in  a  big  prairie  range,  and  be 
everywhere  at  once.  And  it  has  made  this  easy 
for  me,  all  through ;  though  I  should  have  stayed, 
anyway,  finding  you  as  I  did.  Your  case  took  pre 
cedence  of  all  else." 


150  ASCUTNEY  STREET. 

"And  now?"  Margaret  had  asked;  the  two 
words  including  a  great  deal,  both  as  to  movement 
and  motive,  but  throwing  the  burden  upon  him  of 
understanding  and  answer. 

"  I  have  not  quite  done  with  you ;  and  my  own 
case  still  remains,"  he  replied. 

She  could  gather  very  little  from  this,  but  she 
felt  instinctively  that  something  was  to  be  gathered, 
beyond  the  fact  that  he  had,  as  yet,  secured  not 
much  to  himself  of  the  fine  climatic  reinforcement 
he  had  come  for. 

When,  however,  in  the  course  of  more  varied 
talk  afterward,  they  spoke  of  Jane  Gregory,  and  to 
his  straightforward  commendation  of  her,  "Not 
a  failure  in  her ;  not  a  pretense  about  her ! "  he 
added  quietly,  "  I  knew  that  was  the  sort  of 
woman  she  was,  Margaret,  the  first  time  I  ever 
saw  her,"  Margaret  naturally  looked  up  at  him 
with  a  wondering  question  coupled  with  her  eager 
interest. 

"  The  first  time  was  on  that  train  in  from  Ex- 
ham,  at  the  Wing  Street  station,"  Dr.  Griffith  said, 
"  when  her  hat  blew  off,  and  I  telegraphed  back 
for  it,  —  I  wrote  you  the  little  incident.  It  was 
queer  to  meet  her  here  again  in  the  midst  of 
this." 

It  had  been  spoken  with  the  simplest  composure, 
and,  as  Jane  did  now,  he  had  left  the  fact  ,with 


ASCUTNEY  STREET.  151 

Margaret  for  such  induction  as  she  pleased,  chang 
ing  the  subject  to  other  matters. 

But  John  Griffith  rarely  spoke  mere  casual 
words. 

How  like  these  two  were  to  each  other  in  the 
force  of  their  plain  reality !  To  what  might  this 
force  swiftly  tend  ?  And  in  other  things  so  differ 
ent  ;  was  it  well  ? 

Yet  what  were  the  "other  things,"  after  all? 
Margaret  was  driven  to  ask  herself  this,  in  her  own 
sincerity.  Were  they  things,  or  shadows,  —  the 
"vain  show"  in  which  people  walk,  disquietedly, 
or  the  verities  which  the  shows  simulate  ?  Upon 
the  plane  of  these  verities  did  not  the  differences 
vanish  ? 

She  determined  to  put  it  all  aside,  into  the  fu 
ture  which  should  be  responsible  for  itself.  There 
was  nothing  else  for  her  to  do.  A  bit  of  wisdom 
from  the  looking-glass  story  flashed  up  in  her  mind. 
The  queen  had  not  pricked  her  finger  yet ;  if  she 
cried  or  worried  about  that,  she  would  be  living 
backward. 

There  was  something  laid  off  from  each  individ 
ual  mind  of  the  party,  as  they  set  forward  on 
their  pleasant  seaward  journey.  A  certain  sense 
of  freedom  and  fresh  permission,  of  all  being  fair 
and  understood,  which  nobody  stopped  to  analyze, 
pervaded  their  relations.  They  had  furlough  for 
a  happy  holiday. 


152  ASCUTNEY  STREET. 

The  children  effervesced ;  Miss  Rickstack  beamed 
and  glowed  continualty.  She  had  never  had  so 
large,  so  sweet  a  slice  of  life  before. 

"  Mamma,"  said  Rick,  leaning  up  by  his  moth 
er's  side  as  they  sat  upon  the  deck  of  the  little 
Bath  steamer,  gliding  down  into  the  breadths  and 
water-glades  and  islanded  beauty  of  the  great  river 
debouchure,  — "  Mamma,  what  a  big,  beautiful 
world !  It  was  awful  little  in  Ascutney  Street !  " 

"  Maybe  you  did  n't  know  the  whole  of  it.  It 
was  big  enough  to  hold  those  two,"  and  Mrs.  Sun- 
derland  gave  a  bright,  warm  look  over  toward 
Jane  and  Miss  Rickstack,  who  had  placed  them 
selves  slightly  aside.  They  often  chose  to  pair  off 
so,  and  leave  a  little  family  seclusion  possible. 
Aunty  sat  in  the  middle  of  a  stack  of  handbags, 
shawl-straps,  and  umbrellas.  The  share  she  took 
to  herself  was  to  "  keep  counted  up." 

"  Mamma,"  said  Alice,  "  it  did  n't  hold  them. 
They  were  on  the  wrong  side  of  the  looking-glass, 
where  everything  is  queer  ;  and  they  came  through 
to  us.  Jane  says  she  is  n't  the  White  Queen, 
though  ;  she  's  nothing  but  a  little  pawn  on  our 
chessboard.  Mamma  Margaret,  I've  been  think 
ing  it  all  out.  I  think  there's  a  whole  row  of 
looking-glass  houses,  one  after  another,  just  as 
there  was  at  Bay  Hill,  you  know,  where  they  were 
opposite,  in  the  buff  parlor,  and  you  could  see  on 


ASCUTNEY  STREET.  153 

and  on,  till  you  couldn't  see  anything.  I  think 
it 's  make-believe  one  side,  and  come-true  the 
other ;  and  we  are  in  the  looking-glass  of  the  next 
one  till  we  get  in  there,  and  then  we  're  looking- 
glass  to  the  next,  and  we  grow  realer  and  realer 
every  time,  till  we  get  away  in  —  to  heaven !  " 

"  And  a  chessboard  game  in  every  one  ?  "  asked 
Uncle  Hans. 

"  I  suppose  so,"  said  Alice,  gravely. 

"  It  seems  to  me  I  remember  that  things  were  a 
good  deal  upset  in  Looking-glass  House,  —  queens 
and  kings  and  castles  down  among  the  ashes, 
crowding  up  close  to  the  chimney  in  a  hurry  to  get 
through ;  and  that  somebody  said,  '  Mind  the  vol 
cano  !  don't  get  blown  up ;  climb  slowly,  the  regu 
lar  way,  and  help  yourself ! ' ' 

"  They  'd  got  off  the  board,"  said  Alice.  "  The 
only  way  is  to  go  by  the  squares." 

Uncle  Hans  and  Mamma  Margaret  laughed  out. 

"  But  the  knights  and  the  queens  have  a  good 
deal  to  do  with  it,  —  helping  people  across,  I 
mean,"  said  Alice. 

The  afternoon  light  was  glowing  low,  and  lovely. 
They  were  winding  in  and  out  through  straits  and 
cuts  and  rounding  points ;  and  beautiful  shores 
ran  their  green  lines  in  curves  and  headlands,  and 
little  clumps  of  woodland,  or  bare,  soft  pasture, 
or  gray  rock,  lifting  up  from  the  water,  spotted 


154  ASCUTNEY  STREET. 

the  wider  expanses  ;  and  they  never  knew,  looking 
forward,  which  way  the  boat  would  take  as  it 
threaded  its  course  along,  always  down  and  down 
toward  the  open  ocean. 

By-and-by,  when  the  sunshine  streamed  almost 
level,  and  the  eastern  slopes  and  edges  were  shin 
ing  in  a  yellow  glow,  and  the  western  ones  taking 
deeper  and  deeper  shadows,  and  the  water  turning 
gray  or  purple  or  black  or  golden  as  the  gloom 
crept  or  the  glory  flashed,  —  in  the  midst  of  a  fairy 
archipelago  of  small  islets  and  a  winding  network 
of  rippling  river-paths  between,  they  slowed  and 
slipped  up  to  a  little  pier,  a  rope  was  thrown 
around  a  mooring-post,  a  gang-plank  flung  across 
from  deck  to  platform,  and  our  party  landed  upon 
Leeport. 

There  was  a  cart  to  take  their  luggage,  and  an 
open  one-horse  wagon  for  those  who  needed  to  ride. 
Mrs.  Sunderland  and  the  children  were  bestowed 
in  the  vehicle  ;  the  others  went  forward  on  foot. 

The  soft,  brown  country  road,  plunging  into 
green  woods  directly  from  the  rocky  river-face, 
took  them  into  a  sweet  stillness  and  fragrance. 
Odors  of  pine  and  bay  were  accentuated — as  color 
is  in  seaside  blossoms  —  by  the  keen,  soft  tingle 
of  the  sea ;  the  indescribable  island  atmosphere 
wrapped  and  penetrated  them  with  exhilarating 
delight ;  the  hush  was  softly  touched  with  rhvthmic 


ASCUTNEY  STREET.  155 

sound  by  the  rote  upon  a  long  ledge-beach  some 
half  mile  or  so  away ;  it  seemed  as  if  the  drift  of 
every  day  had  borne  them  to  a  wonderful  out-of- 
the-world  quiet  and  blessedness,  had  swept  them 
gently  upon  its  shore,  and  gone  fussing  and  strug 
gling  on,  with  puff  and  paddle,  leaving  them  in  a 
great  release  and  peace. 

It  was  the  beginning  of  an  idyl  of  days. 

When  Jane  Gregory  and  Rebecca  Rickstack 
thought  of  Ascutney  Street,  they  marveled  how 
Ascutney  Street  had  ever  got  built  upon  an  earth 
whose  beginnings  were  like  this  ;  how,  being  built, 
and  they  imprisoned  in  it,  it  had  ever  disappeared 
from  them,  and  left  them  in  this  primal  beauty. 
It  was  as  if  city,  and  tumult,  and  work,  and  crowd, 
and  worry  had  melted  away  from  them,  and  disem 
bodied  them  of  the  world,  leaving  them  to  the  very 
soul  of  things,  unhampered  and  unspoiled. 

It  seemed  queer,  almost,  to  take  their  clothes  out 
of  their  trunks,  which  they  had  packed  according 
to  their  outer  needs  that  pressed  so  close  and  so 
continually  upon  them  in  their  old  life ;  "  things  " 
were  a  strange  link  between  that  far-away  past  and 
place  and  this. 

Three  houses  on  the  island,  as  Dr.  Griffith  had 
told  Jane.  One  was  the  little  lighthouse,  the  first 
beacon  on  the  inland  channel,  at  the  end  of  the 
long  cliff;  another  was  the  Morse  farmhouse,  a 


156  ASCUTNEY  STREET. 

substantial,  well-to-do  congeries  of  dwelling  and 
outbuildings  back  upon  the  central  upland;  the 
third,  this,  —  also  a  part  of  the  Morse  family  prop 
erty,  whose  former  occupant  had  "  taken  the  fever, 
and  gone  West,"  —  down  where  the  shore  turned 
southerly,  at  the  head  of  a  beautiful  little  cove  and 
soft-lapped  beach.  "  Kound  the  island,"  walk  or 
drive,  as  the  visitor  chose  to  make  it,  wound  the 
narrow  wagon-track  and  side-path  over  brown 
earth  and  pine  needles,  in  woody  shades  and  by 
open  shore,  with  breaks  of  cliff  and  ledge-crossings  ; 
now  burying  the  passer  in  sweet,  hidden  solitudes, 
now  carrying  him  close  to  the  blue  surge  of  water 
that  kissed  the  sand,  or  tossed  gay  breakers  up  the 
spines  of  rocks  ;  and  again  lifting  him  to  a  summit 
whence  the  great  sweep  of  ocean  one  way,  and  the 
green  slopes  of  the  farm  fields  the  other,  could  be 
overseen. 

A  path,  which  led  from  the  old  Morse  house  to 
the  south  cove,  crossing  the  little  side  orchard  of 
the  cove  house,  and  touching  at  its  kitchen  en 
trance  with  demonstration  of  family  use  and  his 
tory,  ran  down  to  the  small  gravelly  beach,  shel 
tered  on  either  hand  by  the  high  out-thrusts  of  the 
long  ridge,  against  the  base  of  which  the  cove  cot 
tage  stood. 

Southwesterly  the  ridge  projected  itself,  narrow 
ing  and  sharpening  and  rising  higher ;  the  drive- 


ASCUTNEY  STREET.  157 

way  crept  along  behind  it,  as  behind  a  rampart ; 
on  its  crests  were  only  bleak  rock,  mossy  pasture 
grass,  and  hardy  furze. 

Down  in  the  safe  little  cove,  Rick  and  Alice 
played.  Jane  and  Miss  Rickstack  sat  with  them, 
or  found  nooks  above  in  cool,  rocky  niches,  where 
they  could  watch  the  children  and  chat  pleasantly 
together.  In  the  afternoons,  when  it  was  loveliest, 
Dr.  Griffith  and  Margaret  would  come  out,  with 
work  or  drawing,  and  books  ;  and  there  would  be 
reading  and  talk  that  were  worth  coming  away  into 
this  distant  security  for ;  that  could  only  so  have 
been  attempted  and  enjoyed. 

It  was  the  third  morning  after  their  arrival. 
Mrs.  Sunderland  was  resting  in  her  hammock, 
slung  between  two  maple-trees  in  the  front  door- 
yard  ;  Dr.  Griffith  had  taken  the  morning  boat  up 
to  Bath ;  and  the  others  were  in  the  rocky  cove. 

The  children  were  sailing  boats  in  the  edge  of 
the  water,  keeping  them  within  control  by  tow 
ing-lines  of  twine,  the  reflex  wave  carrying  them 
out  to  full  length  from  shore,  and  the  next  incom 
ing  one  bringing  them  back  with  gentle  slide  upon 
the  sand. 

These  boats  were  very  childish  and  womanish  af 
fairs,  such  as  Jane  and  Miss  Rickstack  could  help 
make,  with  bits  of  shingle,  and  masts  of  wooden- 
skewer  style,  whittled  from  pine  sticks.  A  sail  of 


158  ASCUTNEY  STREET. 

curiously  un-nautical  fashion,  with  stays  and  hal 
yards  arranged  more  with  an  amateur  eye  to  effect 
than  with  any  technical  knowledge,  served  as  a 
label  to  each  one  at  least,  that  might  say.  "  This  is 
intended  for  a  vessel,  and  as  such  is  to  be  politely 
regarded." 

They  floated,  however,  and  kept  right  side  up 
better  than  might  have  been  expected  ;  their  raft- 
like  proportion  and  the  low,  crosswise  set  of  the 
canvas,  —  for  it  was  a  bold  adaptation  of  square- 
rig  to  a  sloop,  —  perhaps  helping  to  this  ;  and  the 
young  ones,  knowing  nothing  better,  and  all  unwit 
ting  of  certain  memoranda  in  Uncle  Hansel's 
pocket-book  among  the  errands  which  had  taken 
him  to  Bath,  were  satisfied  ;  while  the  elders  were 
divided  between  tender  compunctions  for  the  im 
position  upon  innocent  confidingness  and  fun  over 
their  own  half-comprehended  blunders. 

A  new  craft  was  just  launched,  —  the  Jabber- 
wock,  whose  name  was  stitched  in  red  worsted  let 
ters  upon  the  rectangle  of  cotton  cloth,  with  osten 
tatious  blazonry  ;  and  a  long,  retreating  lapse  of 
the  outgoing  tide  was  taking  it  finely  forth,  when  a 
sudden  cry  from  Rick  brought  Jane  hastily  to  his 
aid,  to  find  the  frail  hawser  escaped  from  his  small 
fingers,  and  the  Jabberwock  galumphing  off  to  sea 
in  earnest. 

Jane  had  in  her  pocket  her  ball  of  twine  from 


ASCUTNEY  STREET.  159 

which  rigging  and  cables  were  made  ;  she  unwound 
a  goodly  length  of  it,  and  fastened  it  to  a  branch 
of  brushwood. 

"  Stand  back,  Kick,"  she  said ;  "  I  '11  try  for  it 
when  the  next  wave  comes  in." 

It  had  bobbed  back  and  forth  two  or  three  times 
already,  and  the  outward  current  was  evidently 
getting  the  better  ;  but  Jane  stepped  close  to  the 
edge  of  the  water,  and  held  the  grapple  ready  for  a 
fling. 

They  were  all  eagerly  intent  upon  the  effort,  and 
nobody  saw  a  small  rowboat  that  had  slipped  sud 
denly  through  a  narrow  cut  in  the  outreach  of  the 
ledge,  in  a  deep,  overhanging  shadow,  until  a  voice 
startlingly  near  called  out,  "  Don't  wet  your  feet, 
young  lady  ;  I  '11  tow  in  the  catamaran !  "  and  look 
ing  round,  they  saw  the  skiff  shoot  smoothly  by, 
the  oar  just  dropped  in  its  bottom,  the  last  spurt 
sending  it  straight  in  toward  where  they  stood. 

A  young  man  with  handsome  sea-browned  face 
and  athletic  figure,  in  blue  woolen  shirt,  sat  upon 
the  middle  thwart,  and  reaching  out  his  arm  in 
passing,  caught,  not  the  truant  vessel  itself  in 
ignominious  grasp,  as  he  might  have  done,  but  with 
all  respect  the  floating  cable,  by  which,  an  instant 
after,  as  he  sprang  upon  the  beach,  and  dragged 
his  own  boat  with  one  hand  upon  the  gravel,  he 
restored  it  to  its  owners. 


160  ASCUTNEY  STREET. 

Rick  caught  the  line,  while  Jane  stood  back. 

"  Thank  you,  sir.  Who  are  you  ?  And  what 's 
a  —  what  you  called  my  ship  ?  " 

The  young  fellow  laughed.  "  You  're  welcome," 
he  said.  "  A  catamaran  is  a  flat  vessel  with  one 
big  sail,  or  none  at  all.  Only  it 's  generally  made 
of  three  logs,  instead  of  one  board.  But  that  does 
n't  matter.  And  I  'm  Matt  Morse." 

Rick  looked  pleased  and  puzzled.  "  But  you  're 
not  this  —  you  're  not  our  Mr.  Morse  !  " 

"  I  'm  this  Mr.  Morse,  anyway,"  was  the  reply. 
"  Not  Leeport,  though ;  Morse's  Neck.  We  're 
half  of  us  Morses  round  this  bit  of  water.  Mr. 
Azel  Morse  is  my  uncle." 

He  smiled,  and  touched  his  cap  as  he  spoke,  di 
recting  his  explanation  chiefly,  and  his  courtesy 
wholly,  toward  Jane. 

"  I  've  come  round  from  Riggsville,  with  the 
mail  for  the  house.  Will  you  look  it  over,  or  shall 
I  carry  it  right  up  ?  " 

"  Thank  you,"  Jane  said  simply.  "  There  can't 
be  anything  for  me  ;  so,  if  you  are  going,  they  will 
be  much  obliged." 

He  had  time  only  for  one  more  swift  look,  — 
which  took  in  quite  as  much  as  the  stare  that 
would  have  been  unpardonable,  —  and  with  another 
touch  of  his  fingers  to  his  cap,  turned  and  sprang 
up  the  rough  bank,  over  which  he  quickly  disap 
peared  from  those  below. 


ASCUTNEY  STREET.  161 

It  was  the  first,  but  not  the  last,  of  Mr.  Matthew 
Morse. 

Kick's  head  was  up ;  he  came  beside  Jane 
proudly.  "I  like  him,"  he  said.  "He  knows  a 
cat-or-a-man ! " 


CHAPTER  XL 

THERE  is  not  much  risk  in  saying  that  there  was 
at  least  no  handsomer  or  better-liked  young  fellow, 
at  that  time,  between  Bath  and  Boothbay,  than  Mr. 
Matthew  Morse.  He  was  known  all  up  and  down 
the  river. 

The  Morses  were  an  old  Kennebee  County  fam 
ily,  and  had  owned  among  them,  first  and  last, 
enough  island  and  other  property  to  have  made  a 
small  township.  They  were  plain  people,  and  the 
present  representatives  held  to  primitive  ways  of 
occupation  and  living. 

Matthew's  father,  old  Captain  Zenas,  was  retired 
now  upon  his  little  peninsular  farm.  Matthew 
helped  him,  in  odd  ways  and  times,  but  had  his 
own  independent  craft.  He  was  a  boatman  from 
beginning  to  end  of  all  that  a  boat  needs  or  is  good 
for.  He  had  served  an  apprenticeship  in  a  build 
ing-yard  at  Bath,  and  knew  how  to  put  a  boat  to 
gether  from  keel  to  gunnel,  from  deck  to  spindle. 
And  wherever  any  sort  of  a  boat  could  go,  up  and 
down  the  river-aisles  and  cuts  and  intricate  chan 
nels,  or  along  these  torn  and  jagged  Atlantic 


ASCUTNEY  STREET.  163 

shores,  Matthew  Morse  could  take  her.  He  built 
rowboats  and  dories,  and  sold  them  for  the  plea 
sure  or  use  of  holiday  comers  or  busy  residents ;  he 
had  a  trim  little  yacht  of  his  own  construction,  in 
which  he  carried  pleasure  parties  up  and  down 
along  shore,  to  and  from  Squirrel  and  Mouse,  and 
the  other  frequented  summer  resorts,  around  Bald 
Head  to  Harpswell,  out  to  Damariscove  and  around 
Monhegan,  up  to  Wiscasset,  or  even  to  Penobscot 
Bay  and  Castine. 

In  the  winter,  he  did  house  carpentering,  made 
and  mended ;  he  hauled  in  wood  ;  he  helped  to 
house  ice,  feeding  the  elevator,  sliding  it  over  the 
long  trams  into  the  great  storage  buildings,  whence 
the  companies  contract  to  take  supplies.  He  also 
read  and  studied,  building  up,  as  well  as  he  could, 
upon  the  foundation  of  a  fair  New  England  school 
education ;  and  he  reveled  in  stories  of  a  great 
outside  world  —  as  he  thought  it  —  that  he  would 
go  forth  into  some  time,  not  realizing  how  outside 
and  free  he  was,  just  here  and  already,  himself. 

While  old  Captain  Zenas  lived,  his  place  was  at 
home.  Afterward  —  but  he  was  too  good  a  son  to 
dwell  much  upon  that  afterward. 

Beside  employment,  he  had  amusement  ;  trust 
Matthew  Morse  for  that.  He  was  wanted  at  ev 
ery  gathering  where  sledge  or  skates  could  carry 
him,  or  anybody  else  ;  and,  by  his  energy  and  social 


164  ASCUTNEY  STREET. 

indefatigability,  fairly  held  together  as  a  neighbor 
hood  a  population  scattered  here  and  there  over  a 
fifteen-mile  area  of  snow  and  ice.  There  was  noth 
ing,  apparently,  that  Matt  Morse  could  not  accom 
plish  ;  the  only  point  to  find  fault  with  was  his  own 
absolute  persuasion  of  the  fact.  He  was  master 
of  all  the  little  world  he  knew ;  perhaps  it  was 
time,  in  the  order  of  his  training  as  a  human  being, 
that  he  should  be  shown  another.  A  more  difficult 
one  would  do  him  good  ;  would  rouse  into  evidence 
some  greater  but,  as  yet,  dormant  elements  of  his 
nature. 

When  Matthew  Morse  first  saw  Jane  Gregory, 
that  further  world  rolled  open  suddenly  before 
him. 

Not  that  he  knew  or  feared  its  inaccessibility. 
He  saw  it,  as  the  prince  in  the  fairy  tale  saw  the 
enchanted  island  through  the  clear,  invisible  wall 
of  adamant.  It  looked  beautiful  and  strange  to 
him  ;  there  was  something  in  its  aspect,  different 
he  knew  not  how,  but  with  a  wonderful  charm, 
from  what  he  had  ever  met  before. 

A  composure  that  did  not  answer,  in  the  fashion 
of  ordinary  girlhood,  to  that  first  quick  noting  in 
a  man's  admiring  look,  —  or  his  look  that  had  fair 
cause  and  chance  to  be  admiring,  —  that  did  not 
meet  with  any  shyest  challenge,  or  demurest  readi 
ness,  or  most  covert  curiosity  the  masculine  scrutiny 


ASCUTNEY  STREET.  165 

and  gauge,  but  was  simply  and  exactly  what  it 
had  been  the  moment  before,  and  would  be  the 
moment  after,  —  this  showed  in  Jane  Gregory,  and 
surprised  him,  with  a  certain  sense  of  new  condi 
tions  to  be  met,  a  higher  order  of  companionship 
to  be  won. 

If  it  was  not  love  at  first  sight  with  Matthew 
Morse,  it  was  stimulation  to  see  more,  a  sudden 
fascination  of  the  possible. 

Two  things  he  learned  within  the  half  hour  of 
their  meeting,  which  gave  him  the  courage  of  an 
open  opportunity. 

She  had  said,  "  There  can't  be  anything  for  me," 
when  he  had  offered  her  the  looking  over  of  the 
mail ;  and  no  girl  would  have  said  that  who  had 
the  keen  personal  interest  anywhere  which  is  al 
ways  expectation.  He  had  asked  questions  of 
aunt  Kreeshy,  and  had  found  out  that  she  was 
not  really  of  the  city  family,  but  just  invited  with 
them,  —  a  "  kind  of  friendly  help,"  aunt  Kreeshy 
guessed.  So  she  was  not  one  of  the  unreachable 
maidens  of  mirage  with  whose  flitting  summer 
presence  came  those  perilous  visions  in  mountain 
and  sea  mists,  bewildering  reflections  of  a  life 
whose  reality  is  far  away  beyond  a  safe,  prohibited 
horizon. 

It  was  growing  late  in  the  season ;  he  had  but 
few  positive  engagements  on  hand  ;  he  resolved 


166  ASCUTNEY  STREET. 

that  after  this  week,  which  he  hoped  would  end 
them,  he  would  make  no  more  unless  at  Leeport. 
Aunt  Kreeshy  would  be  sure  to  want  him.  When 
she  had  boarders,  or  the  uncle  Lishe  house  was  let, 
she  always  had  plenty  of  plans  for  her  visitors,  if 
they  did  not  make  them  for  themselves. 

He  went  in  and  out,  with  his  free,  careless  grace, 
among  them ;  he  got  readily  into  talk  with  Dr. 
Griffith ;  that  gentleman  soon  found  out  what  he 
could  do  for  them,  and  secured  him  and  his  yacht 
for  two  or  three  sailing  excursions  that  should  only 
wait  their  own  convenient  day.  "  After  this  week," 
Matthew  said,  "  there  would  be  nothing  else." 

"  He  is  a  handsome  creature,"  Margaret  said,  as 
he  swung  off  one  morning  with  easy  stride,  and 
disappeared  with  rapid  springs  down  the  broken 
rocks  into  the  cove. 

"  A  fine  physique,"  said  Dr.  Griffith ;  "  and  a 
fine  nature  otherwise,  I  think,  if  it  were  all  devel 
oped.  Remarkable,  anyway,  in  his  present  place 
and  occupation.  He  leaves  a  certain  spectrum  of 
bright  impression  when  he  vanishes.  You  don't 
often  see  just  such  coloring." 

It  was  true ;  eyes  the  hue  of  a  new,  ripe  hazel- 
nut,  but  with  a  flash  and  sparkle  like  light  on 
a  brown  rippling  brook  ;  hair  sun-bronzed  and 
tawny-tipped,  tossed  back  from  a  clear,  square  fore 
head,  that  showed  fair-skinned  where  the  hat  had 


ASCUTNEY  STREET.  167 

shaded  it ;  cheeks  and  throat  ruddy  like  the  warm 
side  of  a  dusky,  mellow  pear  ;  even,  white  teeth 
that  made  his  smile  splendid ;  and  a  way  of  catch 
ing  and  transmitting  a  gleam  and  shine  of  contin 
ual  cheer  and  pleasure,  that  left  its  trail  upon  the 
sense,  as  Dr.  Griffith  said,  when  he  was  gone ;  one 
would  say  he  could  but  make  his  welcome  where 
he  came,  and  add  zest  to  any  playday  party. 

But  somehow  Jane  Gregory  felt  that  he  was  go 
ing  to  interrupt  them  all.  She  thought  she  liked 
the  still  times  best. 

It  was  beautiful  in  those  days  before  the  yacht 
ing  was  to  begin. 

Miss  Rickstack  was  afraid  of  a  rowboat,  and  she 
was  absolutely  happy  with  the  children ;  so  Mar 
garet  and  her  brother  took  Jane  with  them  on  de 
licious  little  cruises,  when  they  seemed  to  lose 
themselves  in  pleasant  bends  and  channels,  and  to 
penetrate  into  mysterious  windings  and  distances 
of  the  water  world.  Whole  afternoons  they  spent 
thus  upon  the  river,  finding  out  new  pictures  and 
pretty  nooks;  landing  often  in  still  places  where 
they  could  fancy  no  one  had  ever  set  foot  before  ; 
gathering  wild  vines  of  glossy  leafage  that  crept 
about  the  woodland  soil,  or  filling  tiny  baskets  with 
the  red  partridge  berries  for  Rick  and  Alice,  and 
making  addition  to  their  housekeeping  array  in 
acorn  cups  of  chosen  size  and  beauty.  Some  of 


168  ASCUTNEY  STREET. 

these  Mrs.  Sunderland  painted  with  minutest  dain 
tiness,  like  fairy  decoration,  with  buds  and  bells 
of  little,  lowly,  hiding  things  that  bloom  almost  in 
visible,  with  tips  of  crimson  mosses,  or  smallest 
fern-fringes. 

Miss  Rickstack  had  packed  a  fair-sized  trunk, 
less  with  her  own  wardrobe  than  with  surprises  for 
the  children,  in  the  toys  of  olden  time  that  Alice 
had  lamented  leaving ;  and  the  pats  of  butter  and 
the  little  loaves  of  cake  were  forthcoming  almost 
daily  now  in  rivalry  of  aunt  Kreeshy's  bountiful 
supplies. 

One  evening  they  had  gone  up  and  around  But 
ton  Island,  a  green  knoll  alone  in  the  midst  of  a 
wide  open,  where  sometimes  a  tired  yoke  of  oxen 
was  turned  to  pasture  after  a  heavy  season  of  sum 
mer  work. 

They  had  climbed  to  the  highest  point  of  rock, 
and  sat  there  in  the  falling  dusk,  watching  the 
first  stars  come  out  over  the  water,  and  the  distant 
south  light  flash  its  safety-fire  across  the  far-down 
strait.  They  could  hear  the  antiphon  of  three 
sand  beaches,  calling  to  each  other  through  the 
coming  night,  as  the  surf  curled  crisply  up  their 
sides  and,  shattering  itself  softly,  fell  back  with  a 
long  whisper  to  the  sea.  And  then  they  had  rowed 
home  in  the  early  darkness,  the  phosphorescent 
water  parting  in  sparkles  under  their  bow,  and 


ASCUTNEY  STREET.  169 

dripping  like  pale  electric  fire  from  each  lift  of 
the  oars. 

Dr.  Griffith  knew  the  shore-marks  and  the  way  ; 
he  never  undertook  anything  he  was  not  prepared 
for.  It  was  a  delight  to  trust  to  such  sure  guid 
ance,  and  the  kindly  care  with  which  he  watched 
and  arranged  their  comfort  was  such  a  thing  to 
share  in !  It  was  this  sharing  that  made  the  charm 
for  Jane.  It  was  such  privilege,  and  yet  could  be 
so  meekly,  simply  taken. 

They  did  not  talk  a  great  deal ;  the  intercourse 
was  but  the  deeper  for  the  silence  ;  and  when  there 
was  speech  it  was  of  something,  like  the  night  and 
the  light  and  the  waters,  to  be  remembered  and 
dwelt  in  when  the  time  itself  had  passed. 

"  How  grand  and  sweet  the  wilderness  is  !  " 
said  Margaret,  as  they  drifted  down  the  strong 
current,  where  oars  were  not  needed,  under  the 
overhanging  walls  of  a  deep  cut,  fringed  and  dra- 
peried  from  water  edge  to  summit,  with  beautiful 
wood  growths.  They  could  only  see  them  as  a 
cloud,  in  the  dimness,  but  the  breath  of  them  min 
gled  with  the  clean  water  smell,  and  the  stirs  of 
boughs  in  the  wind  helped  out  the  music  of  the 
breaking  ripples. 

"  I  wonder  if  the  Wilderness  of  the  Fasting  was 
not  some  such  place,  and  not  a  great,  bare,  burned- 
out  desert  of  hunger  and  thirst.  I  wonder  if  He 


170  ASCUTNEY  STREET. 

had  not  forgotten  to  be  bodily  hungry  and  thirsty, 
where  everything  was  so  full  of  the  word  He  said 
men  live  by  !  " 

"  He  went  there  to  be  tempted,  —  it  says,"  said 
Jane,  with  gentle  doubt  wistful  to  be  dispelled. 

"  He  went  for  what  awaited  him  —  as  we  all  go ; 
as  He  went  up  afterward  to  Jerusalem,"  said  Dr. 
Grffith.  "  And  both  times,  you  see,  He  went  up, 
and  with  a  prelude  of  rejoicing.  It  is  in  the 
highest,  sweetest  places  of  our  nature  that  we  are 
tempted,  and  that  we  suffer." 

"  Always  ?  "  asked  Jane.  "  I  thought  it  was  so 
often  in  the  mean  and  low." 

"  The  mean  and  low  are  the  degradations.  It  is 
only  the  high  that  can  be  profaned.  It  is  the 
glory  of  the  human  that  it  is  tempted." 

"  But  vice  is  positive,"  said  Margaret.  "  It  is 
not  always  virtue  perverted,  or  in  disguise.  Wit 
ness  drunkenness,  and  all  brutality." 

"  Ah,  but  which  way  do  they  witness  ?  Of  some 
things  in  themselves  great  and  beautiful,  —  exalta 
tions,  affections,  —  whose  inversions  only  the  possi 
ble  celestial  can  mistake  for  its  very  good.  Satan 
is  a  fallen  angel." 

They  came  out  into  the  dawning  light  of  a  far 
rising  moon.  Neither  spoke  again,  until  Margaret 
said,  a  little  lightly,  as  if  the  thought  and  silence 
were  oppressive,  — 


ASCUTNEY  STREET.  171 

"  Looking-glass  inversions,  Hans  ;  that  is  like 
what  you  mean,  I  think.  How  much  we  have 
found  out  in  that  nonsense  story  !  " 

"  Because  it  is  n't  nonsense,"  answered  John. 
"  I  begin  to  doubt  if  anything  ever  is." 

"  That  reminds  me,"  spoke  Jane  suddenly. 
"  Rick  said  such  a  queer  wise  thing  one  day  to 
Alice,  Mrs.  Sunderland.  It  was  after  you  had  put 
away  some  book  that  you  thought  silly.  '  Alice,' 
he  said,  '  I  can  tell  you  one  thing.  There  is  n't  a 
single  —  bit  —  of  trash  —  in  the  Bible ! ' ' 

O 

44  A  very  good  postulate  to  start  from,"  said 
Rick's  uncle,  laughing.  "  When  we  have  got  at 
a  little  of  the  truth  in  everything,  we  shall  be  saved 
a  great  many  of  our  troublesome  arguments  about 
the  authenticities  of  Scripture." 

"  I  have  heard  people  talk  of  it  as  trash,  if  they 
did  n't  call  it  so,"  said  Jane. 

"  It  is  a  book  which  answers  to  what  a  man 
brings  to  it,  as  his  own  face  answers  to  him  in  the 
water,"  said  Dr.  Griffith. 

"  Is  that  all  ?  Must  we  bring  all  that  we  are  to 
find  ?  " 

The  query  came  disappointedly. 

"  The  answer  is  larger  than  the  question,  or  it 
is  no  answer  at  all.  And  as  to  bringing,  —  who 
knows,  but  for  the  answering,  what  he  does  bring  ? 
A  man's  face  is  the  thing  in  all  the  world  that  he 
cannot  see  directly,"  said  Dr.  Griffith. 


172  ASCUTNEY  STREET. 

Jane  thought  how  good  it  was  to  bring  askings 
to  such  counsel. 

;t  Thank  you,"  she  said  gently,  as  one  who  had 
received  a  gift.  If  she  had  known  how  glad  Dr. 
Griffith  was  that  he  could  give  to  her ! 


CHAPTER  XII. 

"  I  AM  going  to  take  Miss  Gregory  off  for  a  long 
walk,"  said  Dr.  Griffith,  one  morning  later,  "  as 
a  prescription.  She  sits  about  too  much  with  the 
children.  Don't  disclaim ;  I  know  you  like  it ; 
but  I  want  you  to  take  something,  for  your  good, 
whether  you  like  it  or  not." 

"  I  am  taking  everything  for  my  good,  just  now, 
I  think,"  said  Jane,  and  her  quiet  face  glowed. 

Margaret  Sunderland  wished  for  a  moment,  in 
one  of  her  accesses  of  responsibility,  that  she  were 
sure  of  that.  She  wished  she  were  as  sure  as  usual 
of  Dr.  John's  infallibility. 

As  the  two  went  across  the  field  path  together, 
they  met  Matt  Morse  coming  to  the  house.  He 
had  in  his  hand  a  cluster  of  late  wild  things ;  the 
strawberry  leaves  of  dark  green  enamel  that  grow 
low  in  the  wet  wood-edges ;  the  tip  of  a  maple 
branch  that  was  set  among  them  like  a  red  rose 
spray ;  a  single  tender  feather  of  the  princess  pine 
standing  up  beside  it ;  a  bit  of  trailing,  delicate- 
leaved  vine  looped  round  and  dropping  over  all. 

He   held   it   out   to  Jane.     "There   isn't  very 


174  ASCUTNEY  STREET. 

much  now,"  he  said  ;  "  but  what  there  is,  is 
pretty." 

"  You  are  very  kind,"  said  Jane,  and  took  it ; 
but  she  did  not  say  "  I  thank  you,"  with  the  sweet 
clearness  of  deliberate  meaning  that  Dr.  Griffith 
knew. 

A  glimpse  at  her  side  face  showed  the  doctor 
that  she  blushed,  and  that  a  constrained  hesitation 
was  upon  her.  What  ailed  her  ordinary  frank 
ness  ?  Something  in  Matt's  look  struck  him  also. 
He  wondered  if  he  himself  were  in  the  way. 
Would  these  two  rather  have  gone  on  that  long 
ridge  walk  together  ? 

Might  there  be  a  knight's  move  that  would  be 
required  of  him  presently,  —  one  square  off,  and 
two  squares  down  ? 

This  walk  was  his  at  any  rate ;  it  could  not  be 
helped  now ;  and  Jane  had  certainly  looked  glad. 
He  would  be  as  fair  to  himself  as  to  another ;  and 
then,  —  he  could  be  generous,  —  if  he  were  sure 
that  it  would  be  generous  to  Jane. 

It  brought  his  own  thought  to  a  focus  ;  he  knew 
now,  if  he  had  not  known  before,  what  he  would 
do,  if  he  could  do  it  in  his  own  undoubted  right. 

So  they  went  up  the  ridge  together ;  a  fair  world 
about  them  ;  the  same  pleasant  things  in  the  same 
pathway  for  the  two  ;  a  moment  ago  an  unspoken 
unison  between  them,  that  only  waited  interpreta- 


ASCUTNEY  STREET.  175 

tion  to  fuse  what  was,  as  yet,  separate  in  but  half- 
analyzed  happiness,  to  conscious,  acknowledged, 
authorized  joy  ;  it  had  been  like  daydawn  without 
a  cloud ;  but  now  a  mist  had  rolled  over ;  it  was 
not  sure  that  there  could  come  a  visible  sunrise. 

Jane  knew  that  she  had,  in  a  certain  way,  put 
herself  in  a  false  position  ;  it  was  something  so 
slight,  so  inappreciable,  that  there  was  no  such 
thing  as  setting  it  right ;  it  was  irrevocable  because 
of  its  shadowiness.  Oh!  why  should  her  embar 
rassment  have  made  her  blush  ?  Why  could  she 
not  have  taken  the  simple  things  simply  ?  Why 
should  it  seem  of  consequence  to  her  ?  —  a  conse 
quence  likely  to  be  interpreted  precisely  wrong. 
She  was  vexed ;  she  was  ashamed ;  so  her  embar 
rassment  continued. 

It  was  not  in  her  nature  to  be  rude,  ungrateful ; 
yet  she  could  have  thrown  the  little  bunch  of  leaves 
away.  Only  that  would  do  no  good ;  it  would 
prove  nothing,  except,  indeed,  it  might  italicize,  as 
with  false,  evasive  act,  the  consciousness  that  looked 
like  proof  already.  So  she  carried  it  clasped  in 
her  left  hand  that  dropped  down  by  her  side  ;  and 
it  was  as  if  nettles  stung  her. 

Little  things  had  annoyed  her  before.  Things  that 
could  not  be  avoided  or  contradicted;  there  had 
been  little  looks  in  Mistress  Margaret's  face  that 
Jane,  with  all  her  love,  resented.  Mrs.  Sunder- 


176  ASCUTNEY  STREET. 

land  was  thinking,  perhaps,  —  it  might  be  they  were 
ail  thinking,  planning,  —  how  something  should  be 
fall  which  they  were  arranging  in  their  own  minds 
was  to  be  good  for  her  —  for  Jane.  And  what 
she  was  most  indignant  with  was  her  own  indigna 
tion  ;  what  she  was  most  bitterly  abased  by  was 
her  own  mortification.  Of  what  had  she  been 
thinking,  that  she  should  be  angry  that  they  could 
think  of  this?  Such  a  mere  remoteness,  too;  a 
thing  that  had  had  no  time  to  begin  to  be. 

What  other  remoteness,  impossibility,  was  there, 
that  had  begun  to  be  in  the  way  for  Jane  ? 

It  was  by  no  means  clear  to  her,  as  I  make  it, 
writing  it  down  ;  she  would  not  have  let  it  be.  But 
in  her  mingled  feeling  it  threatened  her  with  its  de 
mand  ;  it  drove  her  to  precisely  the  same  conclusion, 
in  a  shrinking,  momentary  perception,  that  the 
doctor  had  come  to  by  an  insight  a  man  need  not 
be  ashamed  to  face. 

She  would  think  of  nothing;  she  would  fear 
nothing ;  she  would  not  challenge  or  misdoubt  her 
self.  She  would  take  this  walk  with  her  friend  as 
he  had  asked  her,  for  her  good.  After  all,  there  is 
no  reassurance  like  that  which  comes  in  the  safety 
of  being  suspected  of  exactly  the  wrong  thing. 

It  was  an  air  and  scene  in  which  all  little  cir 
cumstantial  shackles  might  fall  off.  The  keen, 
clear  wind,  tempered  with  such  sunny  warmth  as 


ASCUTNEY  STREET.  177 

only  the  lingering  of  the  real  summer  in  her  sweet 
est  places  gives,  when  she  meets  the  rich,  luxurious 
advance  of  her  Indian  sister,  and  the  two  reign  on 
together,  as  they  do  sometimes,  and  as  they  did 
this  year,  swept  up  around  them,  full  of  stimulus 
and  fragrance,  seeming  to  lift  and  bear  away  what 
ever  might  oppress,  perplex,  or  fret ;  replacing 
doubt  or  discomfort  with  buoyancy  and  placid 
strength.  Peace  and  vigor  were  the  elements  of 
the  atmosphere  ;  it  wrapped  the  body  with  a  life 
that  penetrated  and  reinforced  the  very  inmost 
being.  It  was  all  so  large,  so  gracious  ;  one  could 
take  in  without  stint  such  satisfying  that  uiicontent 
fell  back,  rebuked.  "  How  shall  He  not  freely 
give  us  all  things?"  the  spirit  cried,  rejoicing. 
And  nothing  seemed  impossible  to  be  or  to  come, 
when  all  this  was  here,  a  whole  horizon  flooded  and 
brimmed  with  ecstasies,  to  make  one  transcendent 
hour  for  just  two  human  souls. 

It  was  not  without  knowledge  and  foresight  that 
Dr.  Griffith  had  so  spoken,  —  "  To  do  her  good." 
He  knew  how  she  had  been  cramped  and  limited ; 
he  wanted  to  bring  her  out  into  these  large  places, 
to  see  their  effect  upon  her ;  they  would  measure 
her  with  themselves.  How  fully  would  she  —  could 
she  —  receive  and  hold  ? 

The  inland  side  of  the  ridge  was  here  a  long, 
rough  slope  ;  they  went  up  over  crisp,  short  turf, 


178  ASCUTNEY  STREET. 

broken  with  outcrops  of  stone,  where  flat  little 
juniper  bushes  spread  their  blue-green  branches, 
and  clung ;  the  goldenrods  stood  up  in  flaming 
beauty,  every  spire  an  exuberant  bloom,  of  a  plu- 
miness  and  softness  such  as  Jane  had  never  seen 
before ;  and  the  little,  pale,  starry  asters  clustered 
among  them,  smiling  up  to  their  glory,  as  saying, 
"  We  are  less,  —  we  differ,  —  but  we  shine,  our  way, 
too !  " 

"I  think  they  talk  to  each  other,"  Jane  said, 
catching  the  word  of  it  as  she  stooped  among  them 
and  gathered  some  of  the  bright  and  lovely  things, 
which  she  put  with  the  leaf -cluster.  It  was  not  all 
Matt  Morse's  now ;  she  was  more  comfortable  with 
it. 

There  was  a  good  deal  of  tacit  language  about ; 
Dr.  Griffith  translated  a  small  syllable  from  this, 
that  made  him  more  inwardly  content. 

They  came  up  on  the  crest ;  they  faced  the  sea, 
that  swept  up  so  grandly  into  the  bosom  of  the 
land,  parting  the  hills  into  islands,  and  afar  off 
stretching  in  its  own  infinity  to  the  remotest  south 
erly  touch  of  the  bending  sky. 

Backward,  they  looked  among  the  heights  of  a 
green  country  ;  opposite  shores,  eastward,  rose  in 
grand  inclines  ;  yet  they  knew  that  all  around  and 
among  them  ran  the  strong,  deep  channels,  anr] 
that  the  tides  sent  up  their  mighty  pulsations  be 
tween  fields  and  forests,  for  miles  and  miles. 


ASCUTNEY  STREET.  179 

"  How  wonderful  it  is,  the  hills  and  the  sea  rush 
ing  together  like  this  !  "  said  Jane.  "  I  have  been 
on  a  flat  beach,  before ;  then  it  seemed  to  come  to  an 
end,  both  ways ;  the  shore  had  run  to  a  sandy  edge, 
and  the  sea  had  come  to  its  long  line  that  it  could 
not  cross ;  but  here  —  why,  it  is  both  conquering 
and  making  triumph  together  !  " 

She  seldom  said  so  much ;  it  was  the  pressure  of 
the  fullness  upon  her ;  there  was  that  in  her  which 
must  speak,  so  borne  upon. 

She  gazed  out  upon  the  mingled  splendor  of 
land  and  water,  in  a  flush  of  many  colors,  inde 
scribably  rich  and  lovely :  the  deep  evergreens  hold 
ing  their  summer  verdure  ;  the  clumps  of  yellow 
birches  ;  the  scattered  oaks  and  maples,  burning 
in  their  crimson  and  orange  ;  the  scarlet  tongues 
of  vine  and  shrub,  shooting  and  waving  here  and 
there  with  vivid  flashes  as  of  fire  ;  the  great,  chang 
ing,  many-hued  ocean,  opaline  under  the  bright  sky 
and  shifting  cloud-shadows,  —  all  this  to  the  eye, 
while  the  sweet,  keen  breeze  carried  the  strength 
and  joy  of  it  to  the  very  life-centre ;  how  could  she 
but  forget  everything  —  herself  most  of  all  —  as 
she  stood  there,  in  an  amaze  of  gladness  ? 

Dr.  Griffith  looked  at  her ;  she,  in  this  new  en 
vironment,  was  his  especial  study ;  yet  the  same 
great  spell  was  upon  him  also  ;  the  intense  delight 
was  the  being  in  that  same  wondrous  world  — 


180  ASCUTNEY  STREET. 

really  lifted  into  it  and  its  sublime  meanings  —  in 
companionship. 

"  I  think  you  prescribed  for  more  than  you 
knew,  Dr.  Griffith,"  Jane  said,  as  presently  they 
walked  on  again  along  the  cliff.  "  I  think  the 
'  good '  reaches  further  than  breath  or  eyesight." 

"  It  is  a  poor  physician  who  treats  only  for  the 
external,"  Dr.  Griffith  returned.  "  I  knew  pretty 
well  what  this  would  be  to  you.  How  far  have  you 
ever  been  in  this  direction  ?  " 

"  Not  any  distance  at  all.  I  was  n't  sure  of  the 
climbing  for  the  children." 

"  I  shall  show  you  new  things,  then.  Are  you 
sure-footed  ?  " 

Jane  laughed.  "  I  have  never  been  tried  very 
much,  you  know,  off  the  sidewalks.  But  I  think  I 
have  a  steady  head." 

Down  at  their  left  plunged  the  broken  fissured 
rocks ;  at  their  base  curled  and  hissed  the  fringing 
waters ;  on  the  other  side  the  slope  grew  continu 
ally  more  precipitous,  as  the  reef-like  promontory 
reached  on  southwesterly  ;  the  narrow,  rutted  road 
was  lost  in  the  thick  undergrowth  and  below  the 
impending  height ;  across  the  lessening  strip  of 
land  could  be  seen  the  blue  glimmer  of  the  inlet 
westward,  and  the  thickly  shaded  shores  of  the 
larger,  farther  island  township. 

They  had  to  cross  a  high,  sharp  neck  that  was 


ASCUTNEY  STREET.  181 

little  more  than  a  pathway,  and  part  of  it  a  scram 
ble  across  and  between  the  jags  of  rock. 

Dr.  Griffith  took  her  hand  at  perilous  points,  or 
such  as  might  have  been  so  in  weather  less  serene, 
or  for  a  hasty  step,  or  an  easily  dizzied  head. 
Jane  proved  her  head  to  be  steady,  as  she  had 
said ;  and  her  feet  took  firm,  well-poised  hold 
where  the  cool  head  discerned  the  safest  way. 

They  went  up  as  far  as  they  could  along  the 
summit ;  then  the  doctor  led  her  down,  carefully, 
into  a  steep  ravine  that  cleft  the  headland.  They 
came,  at  length,  to  a  broadened  shelf  that  nearly 
closed  the  fissure  from  side  to  side,  while  forward 
the  passage  flared  suddenly  open  upon  the  face  of 
the  ledge,  and  they  were  confronted  with  the  sea. 
Behind  them  reared  the  rocks  they  had  descended ; 
the  country  landscape  had  disappeared ;  they  were 
held  in  a  mountain  recess,  alone  before  the  majesty 
of  ocean. 

"  Now  you  can  sit  and  rest ;  you  are  absolutely 
sheltered  here,"  said  Dr.  Griffith,  as  he  spread  a 
shawl  upon  a  jut  of  rock  where  she  could  lean 
luxuriously  against  the  cliff-side.  "  Do  you  know 
you  are  above  the  lighthouse  ?  " 

" 1  think  —  I  am  above  and  beyond  everything," 
said  Jane  slowly. 

Dr.  Griffith  seated  himself  near  by. 

They  were  utterly  silent  then,  for  many  minutes. 


182  ASCUTNEY  STREET. 

"  It  makes  one  feel  out  of  the  world,"  said  Dr. 
Griffith,  when  he  broke  the  pause  that  had  been  so 
full.  "It  seems  as  if  one  might  slip  off  the 
planet." 

"  It  makes  everything  seem  of  such  very  little 
consequence,  anywhere  else,  —  in  the  old  places," 
said  Jane.  "  I  wonder  where  they  all  are,  really, 
and  if  the  streets  and  shops  are  buzzing,  down  in 
the  cities  ?  " 

"  And  people  worrying,  and  lives  crowding,  and 
little  human  shows  and  struggles  going  on,  and 
human  pain  being  suffered  in  a  thousand  ways  — 
with  all  this  grand  escape  so  near  !  "  said  Dr.  Grif 
fith. 

"  Oh,  what  right  have  I  to  have  come  into  it  ?  " 
said  Jane.  "  Oh,  the  suffering  and  the  pinching  — 
why  are  they  let  be,  when  there  is  so  much  room 
and  power  ?  " 

All  the  troubling,  half -comprehended  doubts  of 
her  life  surged  back  upon  the  girl's  thought.  Why 
had  he  —  Dr.  Griffith  —  brought  her  here,  to  show 
her  this,  unless  he  could  tell  her  the  why,  and  com 
fort  her  for  the  denials  that,  in  the  face  of  a  mag 
nificent  peace,  came  haunting  her  by  contrast  ? 
"Why  had  lie  —  Almighty  God  —  made  this  space, 
this  grandeur,  this  freedom,  and  then  crowded  his 
children  together  in  the  fierce  struggle  for  exist 
ence,  where  this  glory  of  his  could  never  be  known? 


ASCUTNEY  STREET.  183 

For  all  answer,  Dr.  Griffith  repeated  the  grandly 
lovely  words  of  the  Venite  :  — 

"  '  The  sea  is  his,  and  He  made  it : 

And  his  hands  prepared  the  dry  land. 
O  come,  let  us  worship,  and  fall  down ; 
And  kneel  before  the  Lord,  our  Maker  ; 
For  He  is  the  Lord,  our  God  ; 
And  we  are  the  people  of  his  pasture, 
And  the  sheep  of  his  hand.'  " 

He  had  taken  his  hat  from  his  head  with  the 
first  words,  and  his  look  went  straight  out  through 
the  height  upon  the  depth,  in  a  reverent  exulta 
tion.  In  the  last  sentences,  with  gentle  pause  and 
stress  he  emphasized  their  wonderful,  perfect  reas 
surance. 

"  That  holds  it  all  —  some  way,"  he  said,  a  mo 
ment  later. 

Perhaps,  young  reader,  you  thought  you  had 
been  brought  out  here  for  some  excitement  of  a 
special  story  incident.  Jane  Gregory  thought  she 
had  come  for  this,  and  that  it  was  enough. 

The  handful  of  leaves  and  blossoms  that  she  had 
carried  all  the  way  was  left  forgotten  upon  the 
rock  seat  in  the  gorge. 

Dr.  Griffith  forgot  to  notice  its  disappearance 
until  Jane  and  he  had  almost  reached  the  cottage. 

Afterwards,  he  went  across  the  fields  and  down 
into  the  woods  by  ways  he  knew  of,  and  brought 
back  clover  blossoms  and  violets. 


184  ASCUTNEY  STREET. 

He  met  Jane  in  the  doorway,  and  gave  them  to 
her.  Margaret  came  forth  upon  the  instant. 
"  TJiose  —  at  this  time  in  the  year ! "  she  ex 
claimed. 

"  If  you  know  how  to  look,"  said  Dr.  Griffith. 

" '  ?or  those  who  have  souls  to  perceive, 
The  violets  bloom  in  October!  '  " 

"  I  think  they  only  grew  for  you,"  said  his  sister. 

"  No  ;  for  they  are  not  mine  now,"  he  returned. 

And  Jane  said  nothing.  But  she  presently  went 
away  with  her  flowers  ;  and  it  seemed  suddenly  as 
if  the  very  refusal  of  her  life  that  had  been  so  hard 
to  understand  had  put  forth  a  disclosure  of  gra- 
ciousness  in  flush  and  fragrance. 

"  To-morrow,  if  this  beautiful  weather  holds," 
said  Dr.  Griffith,  as  they  met  on  the  cottage  green 
at  tea-time,  "we  go  to  Pemaquid.  And  it  will 
hold.  Look  at  the  sky.  We  must  use  every  day, 
now,  and  lose  nothing.  We  will  drain  every  drop 
of  this  wonderful  pleasure." 

He  spoke  like  a  boy,  in  his  brimful  delight. 
Somehow  his  doubts  had  got  put  by. 

Jane  smiled. 

"  What  is  it,  Miss  Gregory  1 "  he  asked  her. 
"  There  's  a  meaning  in  your  look  —  as  there  's  apt 
to  be." 

"  Only,"  she  said,  "  that  I  think  it  would  be  like 


ASCUTNEY  STREET.  185 

the  autocrat's  syrup  pitcher.  You  could  n't  drain 
it  dry,  if  you  held  it  upside  down  a  thousand 
years." 

"  Yes,  you  are  right.  That  is  the  wonder  of  it. 
And  we  won't  turn  it  upside  down  !  " 

So  they  went  in  to  tea. 

Afterward,  Matt  Morse  came  up.  He  brought 
the  mails,  and  reported  Ladybird  as  lying  ready  in 
the  little  Sandy  Cove. 

Then  he  asked  Dr.  Griffith  to  go  down  with  him 
and  see  that  all  was  right  on  board. 

"  I  wanted  to  have  a  word  with  you,"  the  young 
man  said,  as  soon  as  they  got  upon  the  little  beach. 
"  I  want  to  know  something." 

"  All  right,"  answered  the  doctor,  standing  still, 
and  bracing  himself  involuntarily  against  what 
might  be  coming. 

"It  is  about  Miss  Gregory.  I  want  to  know 
how  much  she  is  above  me." 

"  That  I  can't  tell,  Matt,  until  I  know  better 
how  high  you  are." 

"  I  don't  mean  that  way.    I  mean  in  the  world." 

"  In  the  world,  Miss  Gregory  is  simply  a  young 
girl  who  maintains  herself  by  her  own  efforts." 

"  I  am  glad  of  it,"  said  Matt  honestly.  "  But 
it 's  the  way  now  for  young  women  to  do  that. 
She  might  be  out  of  my  reach,  all  the  same.  Are 
her  relations  people  who  would  —  think  there  was 


186  ASCUTNEY  STREET. 

n't  any  world  outside  theirs,  except  for  them  to 
travel  in,  in  summer-time  ?  " 

"She  has  no  immediate  relatives  at  all.  My 
sister  tells  me  that  she  is  quite  alone." 

Matthew  stood  up  in  a  fine  manly  strength. 
"  She  sha'n't  be  that  much  longer,  Dr.  Griffith,  if 
she  will  listen  to  me." 

That  was  plain  enough. 

John  Griffith  made  the  knight's  move. 

"  My  friend,"  he  said,  "  there  is  nothing  in  the 
way,  that  I  know  of,  except  brief  knowledge,  and  a 
woman's  reserve  of  herself  for  the  truest  there  can 
be  for  her.  If  you  think  you  can  show  her  that,  it 
is  your  chance  to  try." 

The  categorical,  matter-of-fact  fashion  of  the 
doctor's  answers  struck  Matt  —  for  he  was  quick 
enough  —  with  a  sense  of  something  near  the  truth. 

"  It  is  your  chance  to  try,"  he  said. 

After  that,  it  might  be  some  one  else  would  try. 
The  doctor  by  no  means  cared  if  this  did  appear  ; 
though  he  would  not  willfully  have  made  it  patent 
by  the  least  phrase  or  tone. 

Matthew  Morse  should  have  his  rights.  These 
days  were  his  only  opportunity ;  afterward  —  well 
Dr.  Griffith  could  not  be  so  sure  of  afterwards,  of 
course,  holding  himself  back  now,  at  the  possible 
crisis. 

What  should  hinder  a  girl  like  Jane,  fresh  in 


ASCUTNEY  STREET.  187 

her  joy  of  this  free  life,  thrown  into  companionship 
with  a  brave,  handsome,  loving  young  fellow  who 
was  a  king  in  this  realm  of  nature,  from  seeing  all 
that  was  fine  and  strong  in  him,  all  that  was  beau 
tiful  in  the  grand  simplicity  of  the  world  she  could 
marry  herself  into,  taking  him  ?  Why,  an  Eng 
lish  duchess  could  not  come  into  more  superb  sur 
roundings  of  estate  than  a  woman  whose  virtual 
domain  should  be  all  that  she  could  appreciate  and 
take  to  herself  among  these  hills  and  waters,  be 
neath  these  glorious  wide  skies. 

What  position  would  Dr.  Griffith  place  himself 
in,  pausing  now?  If  these  days  were  Matthew 
Morse's,  where  were  his  own  ? 

They  were  where  they  had  been  in  the  two  years 
between  his  first  meeting  this  woman  of  such  fair 
womanliness  and  his  finding  her  again. 

They  were  as  safe  as  those,  if  they  were  days 
meant  for  him ;  since  now  he  willfully  missed  noth 
ing,  but  simply  had  to  make  his  knight's  move, 
and  stand  aside  a  bit  in  generous  honor. 

Yet  it  was  very  like  that  turning  of  his  pitcher 
upside  down,  which  he  had  said  he  would  not  do. 

It  was  after  dark  when  he  came  into  the  little 
parlor  of  the  cottage.  And  then  he  looked  over 
his  letters  ;.  said  he  must  go  to  his  room  and  answer 
them,  that  he  might  have  a  holiday  to-morrow ; 
advised  his  sister  to  keep  early  hours  ;  and  so  they 
all  said  good-night. 


188  ASCUTNEY  STREET. 

The  morrow  was  a  fair,  rich  day  ;  not  much  wind, 
but  what  there  was,  was  westerly  ;  it  would  do. 
Nobody  was  in  a  hurry.  They  were  to  be  on  the 
water  for  pleasure,  and  the  sail  would  be  none  too 
long. 

"We  are  idle  folks,"  Margaret  said.  "We 
came  here  to  drift ;  we  don't  want  too  much  energy 
in  anything." 

Aunt  Kreeshy  stored  the  little  cabin,  which  was 
hardly  more  than  a  cubby  and  a  locker,  with  her 
good  things :  her  bread  and  butter  and  cold  chicken, 
her  apple  pie,  her  bottled  coffee  and  cream,  her 
brown,  spicy  doughnuts  and  sage  cheese. 

They  were  going  up  around  Southport,  to  be  as 
little  out  at  sea  as  possible  this  first  trial  trip,  and 
to  enjoy  the  beautiful,  gradual  coming  out  among 
the  islands. 

All  went  but  Aunty,  whose  physical  as  well  as 
mental  constitution  was  a  protest  against  any  kind 
of  wee-waws.  Miss  Rickstack  was  in  that  condition 
of  courage  and  high  spirits  which  comes  from  dar 
ing  one  sort  of  similar  risk  when  quite  incapable 
of  another ;  as  some  people  will  ride  with  great  ex 
hilaration  behind  two  horses,  who  dare  not  go  at 
all  with  one.  She  "  supposed  it  was  going  to  sea 
in  a  bowl,  after  all,"  she  said.  "  But  it  was  n't  a 
saucer,  which  made  all  the  difference.  There  was 
some  sort  of  a  fence  to  keep  you  and  the  sea  sepa- 


ASCUTNEY  STREET.  189 

rate."  Aunt  Kreeshy  went  because  "it  come  so 
she  could  as  well  as  not,"  and  to  help  them  with 
their  lunch. 

The  sweet,  soft  breeze  would  be  gently  in  their 
favor  nearly  all  the  way;  and  they  would  come 
back  with  the  tide. 

In  the  east  cut,  for  a  little  while,  even  the  slight 
wind  they  had  would  be  shut  off  from  them ;  but 
Matt  Morse  knew  how  to  manage,  and  he  was  not 
loth  to  have  it  to  do.  Old  Captain  Zenas  and  a 
boy  were  his  sufficient  crew  ;  there  would  be  leisure 
for  him  to  use  this  day's  "  chance "  for  himself. 
Yet  he  did  not  want  all  leisure  ;  his  very  command 
was  his  opportunity ;  like  every  sailor,  he  was 
twice  a  man  on  board  his  vessel.  If  there  had 
been  just  a  little  more  need  for  seamanship  he 
would  have  liked  it  better;  to-day  there  was  only 
the  mere  prettiness  of  light,  easy  handling,  for  the 
most  part. 

But  this  passage  through  the  cut  called  for 
strength  and  alertness,  in  the  way  Matt  accom 
plished  it,  which  few  possessed  as  he  did,  or  could 
manifest  with  an  equal  certainty  and  skill.  Per 
haps  his  advice  to  take  the  northward  round,  bring 
ing  them  down  through  this  inlet,  was  not  wholly 
unbiased  by  the  pleasure  of  putting  forth  his 
prowess  before  the  eyes  that  would  be  looking  on. 

One  side  here  was  a  sheer  face  of  rock  ;  on  the 


190  ASCUTNEY  STREET. 

other,  a  strip  of  woods  edged  the  river ;  back  of 
this  rose  steeply  the  cliff,  fringed  with  hemlocks 
and  birches;  between,  the  stream  ran  slow  and 
deep  ;  it  looked  still  and  black,  under  the  over 
hanging  shadows  ;  only  the  oaks  and  maples  lit  the 
gorge  with  any  color,  lifting  their  bright  heads 
above  the  wild  undergrowth  which  wrapped  their 
feet  in  a  dull  green. 

Matt  Morse  sprang  ashore  with  a  long  leap,  car 
rying  with  him  one  end  of  a  heavy  rope  that  was 
fastened  at  the  other  to  the  boat's  bow. 

"  How  did  he  get  there  ?  "  exclaimed  Miss  Kick- 
stack,  first  catching  sight  of  him  on  land  as  he 
plunged  along  the  tangled,  broken  foothold  of 
stems  and  stones  among  which  he  had  alighted  as 
he  could. 

Aunt  Kreeshy  had  never  happened  to  see  him 
perform  this  exploit  before.  "You  can't  do  it, 
Matt,"  she  cried,  with  a  sharp,  rising  inflection, 
"  no  more  9n  a  hen  can  wash  dishes." 

The  ignominious  comparison  drew  a  shout  of 
laughter  from  the  boat  party,  as  Matt  gave  the 
contradiction  by  his  agile  springs  and  swings,  past 
and  around  the  crowding  tree  boles ;  now  up  and 
now  down  the  bank  wherever  he  could  perch  or 
grasp  ;  flinging  his  rope  ahead,  and  keeping  it  free 
and  straight  to  the  yacht,  till  he  had  gained  such 
distance  that  he  could  throw  the  line  around  some 


ASCUTNEY  STREET.  191 

sturdy  trunk,  and  send  the  loose  end  by  a  sure 
flight  from  a  strong,  steady  hand,  back  on  board, 
where  it  was  caught  and  hauled  upon,  warping  the 
craft  forward  from  point  to  point. 

Sometimes,  for  a  little  clearer  way,  making  the 
rope's  turn  around  his  own  body,  he  would  go 
sturdily  on,  towing  the  vessel ;  then  take  it  in  hand 
to  thread  again  an  intricate,  steep  place  ;  springing 
across  the  breaks  from  rock  to  rock,  climbing 
around  obstacles,  flashing  in  and  out  of  sight  like 
a  squirrel,  never  losing  his  quick  calculation,  never 
missing  aim  ;  till  just  at  the  right  moment,  down 
below,  where  wood  and  cliff  sloped  to  open  shore 
again,  he  made  the  last  bend  and  haul,  and  as  the 
boat  slid  inward  toward  him,  leaped  on  board, 
flushed,  handsome,  careless,  and  unspent. 

Before  they  had  traced  his  last  movement,  he 
was  with  them,  and  had  sat  down  by  Jane.  Aunt 
Kreeshy  was  on  the  other  side. 

"  It 's  all  fair  and  easy  now,"  Matt  said.  "  She 
'11  go  along  of  herself  —  all  she  can  make  of  it." 

"  You  've  got  good  wind,"  said  aunt  Kreeshy. 

"  Do  you  call  this  good  wind  ?  Baby's  breath. 
For  my  part,  I  'd  rather  beat  a  little." 

"No  baby's  breath  about  it.  I  said  you  had 
got  good  wind,"  repeated  aunt  Kreeshy. 

"  Oh,  I.  Bound  to  have,  you  know,  when  Lady 
bird  couldn't  catch  hers.  I  like  to  give  a  good 
pull  through  a  hard  place." 


192  ASCUTNEY  STREET. 

"  It 's  good  when  can  and  will  go  together. 
Guess  they  most  always  do  with  you,  Matt." 

Aunt  Kreeshy  had  no  boy  of  her  own,  and  she 
was  very  proud  and  fond  of  the  young  boatman. 
Whatever  else  she  may  have  had  in  her  head, 
praising  him  now,  she  thought  was  her  own  secret, 
even  when  she  added,  with  innocent  simplicity, 
"  I  don't  believe  any  lady-bird  o'  your'n  ever  '11 
have  to  tug  alone  through  the  tough  spots." 

Might  it  have  been  apropos  to  that,  or  to  divert 
slightly  the  too  personal  subject,  that  Matthew  be 
gan  to  tell  them  of  the  new  yacht  he  had  nearly 
finished  for  a  rich  cottager  at  Squirrel  Island  ? 

The  Windflower,  he  said  it  was  to  be  called. 

And  then  he  went  on  to  speak  of  further  plans  : 
in  a  few  years,  he  said  he  believed  he  could  take 
on  men  enough,  and  run  a  big  business  ;  and  not 
need  to  leave  home  for  it,  either. 

"  Oh,  I  should  n't  think  you  would  ever  want  to 
leave  home  !  "  Jane  exclaimed. 

Matthew  turned  to  her  with  a  bright  face. 
"  You  like  it  here  so  much  ?  "  he  asked. 

Jane's  day  had  begun  with  such  a  fullness  of  in 
ward  joy  that  it  would  last  far  on  with  her.  She 
had  not  noticed  yet  any  withdrawal  or  interruption ; 
she  had  had  so  much  that  she  would  even  rather 
wait ;  and  her  glad  content  was  ready  to  overflow 
without  constraint.  She  forgot  to  be  jealous  of 


ASCUTNEY  STREET,  193 

herself  with  Matt.  "  Oh,  yes  !  "  she  cried.  "  I 
think  it  must  be  a  great  love  to  anybody  that  lets 
them  be  born  here  !  " 

"  That 's  a  real  pretty  way  of  savin'  it,  an'  pious 
too,"  commented  aunt  Kreeshy  kindly.  The  lit 
tle  secret  thought  in  her  own  mind  was  freshly 
commending  itself  all  the  time  to  her  judgment. 
"  Maybe  that 's  why  the  Lord  brings  some  people 
here  that  was  n't  born  here,  too,"  she  added,  with 
satisfaction.  And  with  transparent  artifice  she 
changed  her  seat  to  a  little  down  the  bench,  pre 
tending  to  turn  and  look  over  at  something  on  the 
water. 

Matthew  was  too  much  in  earnest  to  say  any 
flippant,  presuming  thing,  such  as  very  likely  he 
had  spoken  to  other  pretty  girls  upon  occasion.  It 
was  no  time  to  say  a  serious  thing,  that  might  pre 
cipitate  a  displeasure ;  so  he  was  silent. 

Jane  was  simply  thinking  that  it  was  indeed 
God's  love  that  had  given  her  these  days ;  and  that 
she  did  not  say,  of  course.  She  sat  still,  and  half 
forgot  her  companion. 

The  absolute  serenity  of  her  face  charmed  Mat 
thew  ;  it  awed  him  likewise.  How  was  a  girl  like 
this  to  be  approached,  persuaded,  in  ordinary  fash 
ion? 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

MARGARET  spoke  suddenly  to  Jane  from  the 
other  side  of  the  boat.  They  were  not  ten  feet 
apart. 

"  Oh,  you  ought  to  hear  this,  Queen  !  Uncle 
Hans  is  telling  us  how  Peinaquid  came  near  being 
Boston,  and  Boston  nowhere." 

Uncle  Hans  had  a  child  on  each  knee.  On 
either  side  of  him  sat  his  sister  and  Miss  Kick- 
stack.  Speaking  thus  across,  Mrs.  Sunderland 
made  the  two  groups  one  ;  of  course,  they  were  the 
more  so,  being  opposite,  than  they  could  have  been 
all  on  one  side.  Certainly,  nobody  had  reason  for 
discontent.  If  Jane  were  a  wee  bit  happier,  sum 
moned  into  the  other  conversation,  than  she  had 
been  a  moment  before,  she  scarcely  needed  to  be. 

Dr.  Griffith  explained  how  it  was  once  called 
"  Jamestown,"  for  the  English  king,  contempora 
neously  with  Jamestown  in  Virginia  ;  that  it  was 
the  capital  of  New  England,  before  Boston  was  at 
all ;  and  how  indignant  the  people  were  at  being 
tacked  on  to  Massachusetts  and  losing  their  impor 
tance  ;  how  Pemaquid  fell  back  to  its  Indian  name, 


ASCUTNEY  STREET.  195 

and  its  buildings  dropped  into  decay,  and  its  paved 
streets  got  covered  up,  and  how  they  tell  you  now 
about  a  "  buried  city  ;  "  but  that  as  to  how  much 
of  it  is  really  buried  underground,  and  how  much 
only  in  time  and  forgetfulness,  he  could  not  say. 

"  I  never  heard  of  it  in  my  life  before  !  "  cried 
Mrs.  Sunderland. 

"  Suppose  it  had  been  the  other  way,"  said 
Jane. 

"  That  Boston  had  got  buried  up,  and  that  here 
had  grown  up  the  commerce,  and  the  great  city, 
and  the  learning  and  the  splendor  ?  And  that  the 
Three  Hills  had  been  called  to-day  just  Shawmut ; 
and  the  waters  ran  all  in  and  around,  and  Back 
Bay  was  not  made  into  solid  ground;  but  little 
boats,  like  this,  with  pleasuring  people  from  this 
proud  old  Jamestown,  sailed  back  and  forth  there 
between  forest  banks,  in  a  stillness  like  this  ?  " 

"  One  can't  imagine  it,"  said  Margaret. 

"  '  A  thousand  years  shall  pass,  and  then 
I  mean  to  go  that  way  again,'  " 

quoted  Dr.  Griffith.  "  Ah  !  where  shall  we  be  in 
the  thousand  years  ?  " 

"  I  almost  think  that  Pemaquid  is  the  happiest," 
said  Jane.  UI  almost  wish  that  all  the  cities 
could  be  buried,  and  the  world  kept  fresh,  and  the 
work  and  the  pleasure  divided  round,  without  such 
a  festering  first." 


196  ASCUTNEY  STREET. 

"Yes,  it  is  a  festering  in  one  way.  It  grows 
unhealthy.  Everything  is  excessive.  It  taxes 
men's  nerves  and  souls  to  live  in  it." 

"  What  do  you  think  of  the  women"  asked  Mar 
garet,  "  who  have  the  details  of  life  ?  Do  you 
know  what  a  day's  shopping  is,  now  that  you  have 
ten  miles  to  go  and  do  it,  and  towers  of  Babel  to 
do  it  in  ?  " 

"  Even  the  horse-car  conductors  seem  to  have 
it  on  their  consciences,"  said  Jane,  with  a  funny 
little  smile.  *'  Don't  you  know  what  they  say, 
when  they  cry  out  the  two  big  bazaar  stores  and 
the  crush  corners,  as  they  come  to  them,  and  let  out 
their  own  jam  on  Washington  Street  ?  " 

"  No  ;  how  do  you  mean  ?  " 

«  <  All,  —  Wretch,  —  Wh— y  ?  —  Chawed  'n  — 
Mashed  !  —  Winter  —  and  —  Summer  !  ' : 

Jane  mimicked  it  gently,  with  just  a  touch  of 
street-car  intonation. 

"  They  call  it  out,  over  and  over,  every  trip  ;  and 
yet  the  women  swarm  and  crowd,  and  never  notice 
the  remonstrance.  I  've  often  wondered  that  they 
didn't." 

"/shall  always  notice  it  after  this,"  cried  Mar 
garet,  laughing  delightedly.  "  It  ?s  capital  !  " 
And  then,  with  more  little  laughs  between  the 
words,  she  repeated  them,  and  translated  to  aunt 
Kreeshy  their  parody  upon  the  names  of  the  great 


ASCUTNEY  STREET.  197 

firms  and  the  street  crossings  where  the  wildest 
tussle  and  roar  go  on  perpetually  —  "  '  winter 
and  summer.'  Jane,  you  demure  thing,  where  do 
you  generally  keep  all  the  fun  that  is  in  you?  " 

"  Maybe  where  my  good  times  are,"  Jane  an 
swered. 

Jane  was  in  a  good  time  now,  then.  Her  face 
was  merry.  Little  ripples  of  freshening  content 
played  over  it  as  she  lifted  it  to  the  pleasant  air. 
The  soft  fawn-brown  locks  fluttered  lightly  upon 
her  forehead  ;  her  eyes  were  full  of  light. 

How  much  of  this  was  of  the  moment?  How 
much  belonged  to  Matthew  Morse  ? 

These  questions  put  themselves  to  John  Griffith, 
as  he  looked  on,  studying  so  much  deeper  than  the 
jest  that  he  scarcely  smiled  at  it.  Jane  wondered 
at  his  gravity.  She  was  afraid  she  had  been  a  lit 
tle  silly,  even  out  of  taste,  with  her  mimicry.  The 
first  faint  breath  of  chill  came  over  her  perfect 
day.  How  could  she,  on  the  one  part,  guess  what 
the  grave  look  meant  ?  And  how  could  Dr.  Grif 
fith,  on  the  other,  understand  that  yesterday  had 
flowed  over  into  to-day,  and  that  Matthew  Morse 
was  simply  in  the  reflex  light  of  it  ? 

The  real  history  of  the  remaining  hours  was  in 
things  that  cannot  be  written.  Matt  got  the  best 
of  it,  as  matters  seemed  ;  he  had  plenty  of  oppor 
tunity.  Dr.  Griffith  gave  him  his  chance,  and 


198  ASCUTNEY  STREET. 

Jane  allowed  him  what  she  certainly  could  not  put 
herself  voluntarily  in  the  way  for,  elsewhere. 

It  was  Matt  who  told  her,  as  they  sailed  between 
Mouse  Island  and  Boothbay,  with  Squirrel  Island 
off  at  their  right,  southward,  how  the  splendid  surf 
came  up  on  the  Squirrel  Rocks  over  beyond  the 
sweet  cedar  woods ;  who  pointed  out  dim  Damaris- 
cove,  and  said  they  would  go  out  there  some  day ; 
who  showed  her  beautiful  Spruce  Point,  darkly 
dense  with  evergreens,  that  in  spring  were  all  tas- 
seled  with  bright,  new  tips,  like  dropping  gold  ; 
who  reminded  her,  as  they  rounded  Ocean  Point, 
that  here  they  were  fairly  out  on  the  Atlantic,  that 
fifteen  miles  off  there,  to  the  east,  was  old  Monhe- 
gan,  and  just  northwest,  before  them,  was  Pema- 
quid ;  and  that  all  the  way  from  here  to  Passama- 
quoddy  lay  crowds  of  beautiful  islands,  with  capes 
and  points  and  bays  and  inlets,  and  innumerable 
windings,  and  quiet  harbors  and  land-locked  river 
mouths  behind  them,  in  the  grand  ragged  shore 
that  measures  four  degrees  of  longitude,  and  which 
enchanted  with  its  primeval  loveliness  the  brave 
Northmen  who  came  down  from  Iceland  five  hun 
dred  years  before  Columbus  sailed  from  Spain, 
and  in  between  Cape  Sable  and  Cape  Cod  found 
this,  to  them,  fair  southern  coast,  and  named  it 
Vinland. 

I  am  bound  to  say  that  Matthew  not  only  had  a 


ASCUTNEY  STREET.  199 

good  chance,  but  that  he  used  it  well.  Jane  could 
not  help  being  charmed  with  all  that  he  was  telling 
her.  She  did  not  let  herself  be  impatient  that  she 
could  not  have  everything  at  once.  She  was  far  too 
unpretending  to  expect  continual  personal  notice 
and  kindness  from  Mrs.  Sunderland  and  her  bro 
ther,  —  that  was  how  she  put  it  to  herself,  —  or  to 
be  always  in  their  inner  circle  of  companionship. 
A  pleasant  word  or  glance,  when  it  did  come,  reas 
sured  her,  even  as  to  the  momentary  gravity  which 
had  troubled  her  awhile  since,  foolishly,  she 
thought ;  for  how  could  she  suppose  that  Dr.  Grif 
fith  might  not  have  plenty  to  preoccupy  his  mind, 
and  prevent  his  entering  into  every  little  nonsense 
she,  or  anybody  else,  might  utter?  Yet  the  day 
had  a  little  longer  stretch  in  it  for  her  as  the  noon 
drew  on. 

They  had  their  early  lunch,  and  were  gay  over 
it.  Aunt  Kreeshy  did  the  honors,  and  took  the 
whole  trouble.  The  children  skipped  back  and 
forth,  and  spun  the  company  all  into  one  web 
again.  Afterward,  Jane  got  Kick  and  Alice  to 
her,  with  Miss  Rickstack,  and  began  a  game. 

They  were  a  long  time  working  up  from  Ocean 
Point.  The  slight  breeze  deserted  them,  and  the 
tide  was  at  low  slack  water.  Matthew  got  out  his 
long  sweep,  and  now  at  one  side,  now  at  the  other, 
was  urging  his  vessel  with  stalwart  strokes,  only 


200  ASCUTNEY  STREET. 

to  hold  her  own,  it  seemed.  She  scarcely  gained 
perceptible  headway. 

Dr.  Griffith  offered  help  ;  but  whether  Matthew 
had  a  second  sweep  or  not,  he  did  not  produce  it. 
He  was  used,  he  said,  to  one-man  power.  Evi 
dently,  it  was  his  innings  again. 

The  doctor  made  his  sister  comfortable  for  a 
rest  in  a  small  sea-chair,  and  came  and  stood  by 
the  others,  busy  with  their  game  of  "  Twenty  Ques 
tions."  He  knew  better  than  to  keep  too  obvi 
ously  apart.  There  was  no  reason  why,  like  Mat 
thew  with  his  oar,  he  should  not,  at  least,  hold  the 
distance  he  had  won.  He  need  not  drift  quite  out 
to  sea,  though  he  had  taken  down  his  sail. 

Miss  Kickstack  had  been  set  to  guess.  The 
questions  she  propounded  had  already  counted  up 
to  forty.  She  was  making  wild  rushes  up  and 
down  all  time  and  around  all  creation  with  her  dis 
cursive  inquiry,  the  children  in  high  glee,  mean 
while,  at  her  futile  surmises  and  the  cleverness  of 
Jane  in  having  made  suggestion  of  such  a  good 
"  object." 

"  May  I  come  in  and  help  ?  "  asked  the  doctor, 
when  he  had  listened  for  a  while. 

"  Oh,  you  '11  finish  it  right  up ! "  cried  Alice. 
"  But  you  may." 

"  See,  Jane,  how  quick  uncle  Hans  will  get  at 
whatever  he  sets  out  for."  And  the  small  maiden 
clapped  her  hands  in  anticipated  triumph. 


ASCUTNEY  STREET.  201 

Uncle  Hans  recounted  the  points  they  had  thus 
far  made. 

"  It  is  an  animal,  and  small  and  soft ;  not  par 
ticularly  useful ;  ornamental  ?  " 

"Oh,  very!"  said  Alice.  "That's  one  ques 
tion." 

"  I  guessed  a  muff,"  said  Miss  Rickstack  com 
placently. 

"  Oh,  but  that  is  useful !  "  said  Alice.  "  And 
it  is  n't  4  a  '  anything.  It  is  always  one  particular 
thing." 

"  Ancient  or  modern  ?  "  asked  the  doctor. 

"  Modern,"  Jane  answered,  for  he  looked  at  her. 

"Alive?" 

"Yes." 

"  Can't  be  Alice's  nose  ?  Is  it  in  this  part  of 
the  world  ?  " 

"  It  is." 

"InLeeport?" 

"Yes." 

" Domestic  or  wild? " 

"  Domestic." 

"  Belongs  to  Mrs.  Morse  ?  " 

"It  does." 

"  Is  it  a  whole  animal,  or  a  part  of  one  ?  " 

"  A  part." 

"  A  small  point,  or  an  important  part  ?  " 

"  A  small  point." 


202  ASCUTNEY  STREET. 

At  which  the  children  shrieked,  and  Dr.  Griffith 
guessed,  in  a  tumult  of  applause,  — 

"  The  white  spot  on  the  tip  of  aunt  Kreeshy's 
black  cat's  tail." 

"  I  never  saw  such  a  guesser,  or  such  a  noticer  !  " 
exclaimed  Alice. 

Dr.  Griffith  gave  her  ear  a  little  pinch,  and 
walked  away  to  seat  himself  at  the  rudder  with  old 
Captain  Zenas. 

A  puff  of  wind  had  risen  again.  The  sail  was 
run  up,  and  filled  ;  they  slipped  smoothly  over  the 
placid,  sunny  water,  and  so  came  presently  to  Pem- 
aquid. 

Here,  I  am  forced  to  confess,  the  holiday  turned 
a  bit  dull.  The  interest  of  Pemaquid  was  in  the 
fact  of  it,  and  this  they  had  enjoyed  beforehand. 
There  was  not  much  here  to  be  seen  ;  only  the 
small  patches  and  vestiges  of  what  had  once  begun 
to  be,  and  the  very  quiet  and  ordinary  present 
ment  of  what  had  actually  come  to  pass. 

It  was  Matthew  Morse  again  who  helped  Jane  to 
land,  and  who  walked  about  with  her  and  Miss 
Rickstack,  as  they  viewed  the  fragmentary  traces 
of  the  ancient  town  and  fort.  Mrs.  Sunderland 
was  soon  tired,  and  went  back  on  board,  where 
aunt  Kreeshy  was  taking  her  comfortable  knitting- 
and-dozing  spell,  as  if  she  had  been  in  her  own 
kitchen  at  home.  Dr.  Griffith  accompanied  his 


ASCUTNEY  STREET.  203 

sister,  and  read  to  her  from  some  new  story,  while 
the  children  remained  with  the  shore  party. 

Jane  was  not  sorry  when  the  word  was  given  for 
all  to  return.  The  remaining  hours  of  sunshine 
would  be  none  too  many  for  the  outward  sail  deter 
mined  on,  and  the  reaching  home  as  early  as  com 
patible  with  the  benefit  of  the  tide  up  through  the 
bay.  The  wind  had  freshened  and  gone  a  point  to 
the  northward.  It  had  a  keener  touch,  but  there 
was  no  harshness  in  it,  and  the  unclouded  sun  sent 
streaming  warmth  along  the  waters. 

It  was  a  lovely  afterpart ;  the  most  beautiful  bit 
of  the  day  was  this,  when  the  light  began  to  fall 
slantwise,  and  the  sea  turned  violet  and  green  and 
pearl  color,  stretching  out  under  the  softening  sky. 
Backward,  the  land  rose  in  radiant  heights,  the 
hills  standing  in  autumn  sheen  that,  evening  after 
evening,  now  sent  challenge  to  the  sunsets  across 
the  liquid  deep  that  reflected  and  repeated,  or 
gave  softening  and  blending  neutral  tints  between. 

Jane  was  still  with  the  pleasure  of  beholding; 
perhaps  with  purpose  also,  since  again  Matt  and 
aunt  Kreeshy  were  beside  her.  The  children  were 
quiet  from  some  beginning  of  weariness.  With 
little  ulsters  buttoned  close,  they  cuddled  upon 
cushions  on  the  deck  between  their  mother  and 
Miss  Kickstack. 

Dr.  Griffith  had  covered  his  sister  carefully  with 


204  ASCUTNEY  STREET. 

shawls,  and  placed  her  chair  so  that  her  face  was 
from  the  sun  and  the  warmth  was  upon  her  shoul 
ders  ;  he  himself  stood  gazing  off  beyond  the  outer 
islands,  upon  the  pearl  and  beryl  shimmer  of  the 
southerly  expanse. 

They  were  on  the  long  tack  outward.  Matthew 
need  not  be  very  busy  with  the  boat ;  he  began  to 
talk  again  with  aunt  Kreeshy  of  his  hopes  and 
plans.  Poor  fellow,  he  had  to  crowd  a  little,  for  his 
time  was  short ! 

"  One  of  these  days,"  he  said,  "  I  '11  build  a  cot 
tage  for  myself  on  Button  Island.  I  'm  my  own 
land  company  there,  you  know,  and  I  mean  to  stay 
so.  It  is  as  good  growing  value  for  me  as  for  any 
body,  and  a  prett}^  little  house  won't  hurt  it.  I  '11 
have  nothing  but  a  house  and  a  garden  and  a  boat 
yard.  There  is  n't  a  nicer  bit  of  land  and  water 
in  the  whole  bay." 

"  And  what  '11  father  do  ?  " 

"Father '11  go  where  I  go.  The  farm  can  be 
let  out,  or  the  land  sold  some  time.  It 's  getting 
heavy  for  him,  and  my  boat-building  ought  to  be 
the  best  craft  of  the  two.  The  garden  will  be  just 
pretty  work  for  him  to  see  to.  Yes,  father  '11  go 
where  I  go." 

It  was  manly  of  him  to  repeat  this.  He  meant 
to  let  his  filial  duty  be  plainly  understood.  That 
lost  no  ground  for  him,  if  he  had  any,  with  Jane  j 


ASCUTNEY  STREET.  205 

she  only  thought  the  talk  was  turning  more  on 
family  matters  than  it  concerned  her  to  hear. 
What  was  Button  Island  to  her  ? 

She  wondered  if  she  might  not  get  up  and  walk 
away.  Would  it  be  rude,  a  rebuke  to  Matthew's 
forwardness  with  his  own  affairs,  if  she  did  so? 
Would  the  quiet  person  standing  there,  sending 
his  thoughts  away  from  all  of  them  along  that 
seaward  beauty  take  heed  at  all  if  she  should? 
Would  he  have  any  word  for  her  to-day,  or  ever 
any  more,  such  as  he  had  given  her  ?  How  far  off 
was  yesterday  ?  She  was  so  silent  that  her  silence 
fell,  presently,  upon  the  others. 

"  The  boom,  Miss  Gregory !  " 

She  hardly  knew  how  long  it  had  been,  or  that 
Matthew  had  left  his  place  to  attend  to  his  sail,  or 
had  said  a  word  of  cautioning  reminder  as  he  did 
so,  when  the  canvas  flapped  in  the  wind,  the  heavy 
spar  swung  round,  and  Dr.  Griffith's  voice  and 
hand  reached  her  just  in  time. 

Then,  for  a  moment,  he  did  stay  beside  her. 
What  reason  was  there  for  his  visibly  neglecting 
her? 

"Have  you  had. a  good  day?"  he  asked  her. 
"  Are  you  tired  ?  " 

"The  day  has  been  wonderful.  I  could  never 
be  tired  of  the  hills  and  the  sea,"  Jane  answered. 

Was  it  in  instinctive  use  of  that  hidden  weapon 


206  ASCUTNEY  STREET. 

of  defensive  coquetry  with  which  woman  nature, 
however  sweet  and  true,  is  armed,  that,  feeling  his 
tone,  she  added  what  she  did? 

"  I  shall  be  sorry  to  leave  them.  I  would  like 
to  be  among  them  always." 

With  how  much  of  a  mere  man's  feeling,  and 
with  how  much  of  his  real,  large  kindliness  and 
faith  did  he  answer  her  ? 

"  I  hope  you  will  always  have  the  best  you  can 
have  ;  and  I  believe  you  will,"  he  said. 

"  You  believe  that  for  everybody,  don't  you,  Dr. 
Griffith?" 

"  In  a  sense,  yes.  But  we  all  miss,  or  put  off,  a 
great  deal  that  we  might  have.  It  is  held  right 
out  to  us,  but  we  are  blind,  or  do  not  care.  That 
is  why  it  has  taken  the  world  a  hundred  millions 
of  years  to  get  where  it  even  is  to-day,"  he  added, 
with  a  sudden  generalizing. 

"  Shall  we  go  round  and  round  a  hundred  mil 
lions  of  years  before  we  get  at  even  the  whole  of 
ourselves  ?  "  Jane  asked  the  question  as  it  rose  in 
her  mind,  but  not  as  one  who  expects  an  answer. 

"  I  suppose  '  the  patience  of  the  saints  '  is  the 
sure  waiting  of  them  who  are  being  '  sainted,' 
which  is  simply  being  made  whole,"  said  Dr.  Grif 
fith. 

With  just  those  words,  he  made  her  and  her  day 
rich  again. 


ASCUTNEY  STREET.  207 

But  would  such  words,  such  days,  come  only 
once,  or  twice,  or  twenty  times  in  the  round  of  her 
appointed  years  ?  How  many  rounds  would  there 
have  to  be  before  that  healing,  that  whole-making, 
should  come  to  her,  to  which  every  leaf  upon  the 
tree  of  life  at  last  shall  minister  for  the  nations  ? 

How  much  had  she  done  herself,  just  now,  to 
possibly  put  such  things  by  ? 

This  man  who  "  guessed,"  who  "  noticed,"  every 
thing  —  what  had  she  given  him  now  to  think  ? 

But  she  could  not  get  back  her  words. 

If  her  day  ended  in  a  gift,  it  hardly  ended  in  a 
gladness. 


CHAPTEE  XIV. 

"  I  THINK  it  looks  as  if  there  were  a  place  making 
here  on  purpose  for  Jane,"  said  Mrs.  Sunderland 
to  her  brother. 

44  Do  you  wish  it  ?  "  asked  Dr.  Griffith. 

"  I  am  very  fond  of  Jane.  I  wish  her  to  be 
very  happy,  and  I  think  it  seems  possible  here  and 
suitable." 

"  Suitable  to  what  ?  " 

"  To  Jane  herself,  and  her  position." 

"  Ah,  Margaret !     Ascutney  Street !  " 

"  John,  you  know  I  have  n't  any  of  that  sort  of 
feeling  about  it !  " 

"Do  I?     Do  you?" 

"  If  you  mean  that  I  don't  like  things  unsuita 
ble,  you  can  quote  Ascutney  Street,  if  you  like," 
said  Margaret  with  dignity.  "  I  feel  responsible 
for  Jane ;  and  I  shall  be  glad  if  all  goes  well  for 
her,  in  a  safe,  rational  way.  I  can't  help  loving  the 
girl,  and  I  don't  want  to  be  the  means  of  turning 
her  head." 

44  Margaret,"  said  Dr.  Griffith,  gravely  and  qui 
etly,  "  I  can't  help  loving  the  girl,  either." 


ASCUTNEY  STREET.  209 

Margaret  flushed  up,  very  red,  and  sat  silent. 

"  May  I  speak  right  out,  Gretel  ?  "  he  asked  her 
kindly. 

"  To  me  ?  I  think  you  have.  What  else  is 
there  ?  " 

"  Only  this  :  that  I  want  the  best  of  you  in 
league  with  what  I  know  is  the  best  of  me.  Your 
class  training  is  in  the  way  just  now.  Theoret 
ically,  you  deny  it,  even  to  yourself.  Practically, 
it  is  troubling  you." 

44  Because  I  think  I  may  have  made  a  great  mis 
take." 

"  It 's  just  here,  Gretel.  The  mistake  is  not  in 
what  you  have  done,  but  in  what  you  may  do. 
Women  of  your  sort  are  always  falling  into  pre 
cisely  such  dilemmas.  You  take  up  people  for 
what  they  are;  at  a  certain  point  you  set  them 
down  again  because  of  what  they  are  rated  to  be. 
Your  patronage  becomes  caprice,  because  it  ought 
never  to  have  been  patronage,  but  pure  recogni 
tion." 

It  was  somewhat  hard  for  Margaret,  who  thought 
she  had  recognized  with  some  generosity,  to  be 
told  this. 

"  And  what  do  men  of  your  sort  do  ? "  she 
asked. 

44  What  God  —  not  the  Devil  —  puts  it  into  a 
man's  heart  to  do." 


210  ASCUTNEY  STREET. 

Margaret  looked  up  at  John  with  eyes  full  of 
love,  but  trouble  also. 

"  I  do  not  mean  to  be  proud,"  she  said,  "  and  I 
could  not  be  prcud  against  you  ;  but  what  if  this 
—  a  simple  life  in  the  midst  of  all  she  delights  in 
so  with  her  whole  nature  —  were  the  right  thing?  " 

"  That  is  what  I  am  waiting  to  see.  But  when 
you  speak  of  her  whole  nature,  Margaret,  I  doubt 
if  it  is  met  here.  She  is  higher  than  Matthew 
Morse." 

"And  you  are  higher  than  she.  Why  should 
not  a  man  marry  up,  as  well  as  a  woman  ?  " 

"  There  is  no  why  not.     Both  must  marry  up." 

"  How  can  that  be  ?  " 

"  I  am  speaking  of  the  Kingdom  of  Heaven. 
Gretel,  we  must  go  behind  the  looking-glass  in 
these  things.  There  is  an  inside  world ;  it  is  there 
that  God  joins  together.  If  people  marry  in  the 
outside  world  and  for  it,  they  make  a  sham,  —  a 
reflection,  thin  and  evanescent.  They  are  nothing 
but  shadows  to  each  other ;  not  even  true  images 
at  that.  I  must  go  behind  the  shadows.  I  must 
find  my  wife  in  the  certain-true." 

"  And  yet  you  are  waiting  for  this  other  thing 
to  happen,  if  it  will  ?  " 

"Yes.  It  could  only  begin  to  happen  now,  I 
suppose.  It  is  too  soon.  But  she  is  going  away. 
I  think  he  will  say  something.  I  shall  give  him  his 
opportunity." 


ASCUTNEY  STREET.  211 

It  was  on  Margaret's  mind  to  ask,  "  Why  do 
you  not  give  her  her  choice  ?  "  But  it  did  not 
get  to  her  lips.  She  really  did  not  know  that  it 
would  be  right.  Jane  was  a  good  girl ;  but  a  good 
girl  may  be  dazzled  by  very  goodness.  This  ques 
tion  must  be  settled  by  heart-instinct,  not  by  any 
enthusiasm  of  admiration,  any  glamour  of  upward 
looking.  John  knew  best.  Matthew's  chance  had 
better  come  first.  She  could  not  wish  against  her 
brother ;  but  she  still  thought  he  might  be  saved 
from  a  mistake.  If  he  were,  he  would  be  saved 
completely,  after  some  struggle,  perhaps.  He  was 
strong  and  good.  He  would  not  let  this  spoil  his 
life. 

"  On  Wednesday,  or  Thursday,  we  go  to  Wis- 
casset,"  said  Dr.  Griffith,  after  the  pause  in  which 
she  had  been  thinking  this.  "If  we  make  out 
Wiscasset  on  Wednesday,  then  I  will  run  up  on 
Thursday  and  see  that  all  is  ready  at  Bay  Hill. 
I  shall  be  back  on  Saturday.  You  will  want  my 
help  here  the  day  before  you  leave." 

The  subject  was  changed.  Margaret  could  not 
return  to  it.  There  were  a  dozen  questions  she 
would  have  liked  to  ask,  but  it  was  not  time  for 
them  yet. 

Their  answers  hung  upon  what  might  happen  in 
this  week  to  come. 

Jane  had  time,  before  the  Wednesday,  to  ask 


212  ASCUTNEY  STREET. 

herself  many  questions  —  growing  rapidly  more 
definite  and  searching  —  in  which  no  one  else 
could  help  her. 

Where  was  the  happy  looking-forward  gone  that 
she  had  had  thus  far  in  every  fresh  plan  and  prom 
ise,  in  every  day  for  the  next  day  to  come?  Why 
had  Pemaquid  been  disappointing,  and  why  did  she 
think  of  beautiful  Wiscasset  and  this  new  sail  up 
and  down  the  river-aisles  with  a  certain  dread  ? 

The  catechizing  came  close  home.  Whatever 
other  people  meant,  what  did  she  mean  herself  ? 
Why  had  kindness  —  it  was  only  that  —  from  one 
person  made  the  same  sort  of  kindness  irksome  to 
her  from  anybody  else  ?  Why  was  the  least  with 
drawal  painful  to  her,  on  the  one  side  ;  the  least 
advance  repugnant  to  her,  on  the  other  ?  Was  it 
the  same  sort  of  kindness  ?  Had  she  any  right 
to  call  the  two  the  same  ?  Why  was  she  so  quick 
to  fear  from  the  one,  so  slow  to  hope  from  the 
other  ? 

To  hope  what  ?  What  absurd  presumption  was 
she  beginning  to  be  guilty  of  ? 

She  would  prove  to  herself  that  it  was  nothing. 
She  would  keep  herself  in  a  tight  hold.  She  would 
let  one  thing  be  as  another.  She  would  riot  be 
afraid.  She  would  not  be  disappointed.  She 
would  take  things  as  they  came.  How  foolish 
otherwise  !  How  soon  it  would  all  be  over !  What 


ASCUTNEY  STREET.  213 

could  it  possibly  amount  to  in  these  few  days  left? 
They  would  all  go  back  again,  away  from  these 
woods  and  waters;  they  would  never  see  Matt 
Morse  any  more.  Dr.  Griffith  would  go  home  to 
Sunnywater. 

One  thing  sent  a  pulse  of  exultation  through  her 
as  she  thought  of  it.  Mrs.  Sunderland  was  her 
friend ;  she  belonged  with  her ;  she  would  hear ; 
she  would  know  ;  there  would  be  a  link  ;  she 
should  not  altogether  lose  — 
What? 

She  brought  herself  short  up  again  with  the 
stern  demand.  If  they  could  think  of  this  as  fur 
ther  kindness,  what  did  it  make  of  her  —  desiring 
to  keep  —  not  bearing  to  lose  ?  Pride  and  shame 
flamed  up  in  her. 

What  right  had  she  to  let  a  single  imagination 
stray  out  beyond  Mrs.  Sunderland  and  her  service? 
Least  of  all,  through  her  to  hers,  who  only  as  hers 
could  be  of  any  distant  concern  to  herself,  Jane 
Gregory  ?  It  was  base  ;  it  was  disingenuous  ;  it 
was  not  to  be  allowed.  If  she  could  not  help  this, 
she  must  go  away  to  her  seamstressing  again ;  she 
must  go  back  to  Ascutney  Street. 

Holding  this  threat  over  herself,  she  shaped  her 
behavior. 

Every  day  that  our  little  party  planned  for 
seemed  also  planned  to  meet  them,  with  all  con- 


214  ASCUTNEY  STREET. 

comitants  of  wind  and  weather.  Wednesday  came 
with  a  sweet,  south,  summer  air.  The  atmosphere 
was  balm.  It  was  a  golden  day  of  a  golden  sea 
son.  Going  up  the  river  their  sails  were  full.  It 
was  only  as  the  stream  and  inlets  wound  about  that 
their  course  involved  a  little  shifting.  It  was  just 
enough  to  escape  monotony. 

Captain  Zenas  could  not  go  to-day.  Matthew 
had  more  to  do,  therefore.  A  part  of  the  time  Dr. 
Griffith  sat  at  the  tiller.  When  Matthew  took  it 
from  him,  he  asked  Jane  if  she  would  not  like  to 
steer.  How  could  any  one  suppose  that  her  ready 
assent  was  in  pure  contradiction  of  herself  ?  That 
because  she  would  really  rather  have  been  some 
where  else,  she  seated  herself  with  Matthew  in  the 
stern,  the  tiller-shaft  between  them,  and  with  good 
will  took  her  lesson  ? 

Not  Matthew  ;  he  was  blithe.  Not  Dr.  Griffith  ; 
he  saw  as  a  man  sees,  —  even  so  keen  a  man  as  Dr. 
Griffith,  —  where  it  stands  him  in  closest  behoof 
to  be  keen.  For  Margaret  Sunderland,  a  woman 
with  a  little  sympathetic,  innocent  feminine  crooked 
ness,  it  was  the  first  glimpse  toward  the  truth. 

All  this  day  she  watched.  It  was  nollesse 
oblige  with  her.  Because  she  had  not  been  quite 
able  to  wish  that  her  brother  might  do  this  thing, 
because  she  knew  that,  if  the  other  happened,  she 
would  be  secretly  half  relieved,  —  or  would  have 


ASCUTNEY  STREET.  215 


been  before  that  talk  with  Hans,  —  she  set  herself 
to  see  clearly,  even  in  Hans'  behalf. 

Through  the  nobility  of  this  very  contrariety  of 
her  own,  she  discerned  the  contrariety  in  Jane. 
Does  a  generous  person  reach  out  an  eager  hand 
to  seize  the  best  thing,  the  thing  most  unquestion 
ably  to  be  desired  ?  Does  a  delicate  woman  put 
herself  forth  to  take  with  over-readiness  that  which 
her  hidden  hope  most  covets,  or  does  she  half  avert 
herself  and  put  it  by,  letting  some  commoner  claim 
and  opportunity  assert  itself,  that  the  "  thing  so 
sweet,  so  dear,"  may  not  know  its  own  great  price, 
but  may  come  insisting,  if  it  will  come  at  all  ? 

How  far,  possibly,  might  this  go  ?  How  far 
was  it  a  consciousness  ?  With  her  brother  stand 
ing  aloof,  —  the  very  fact,  perhaps,  awakening  Jane 
to  what  she  would  be  self-shamed  to  realize,  — 
might  it  even  be  that  she  should  be  drawn  into 
this  easier  possibility,  to  cure  herself  of  the  first, 
that  was  so  preposterous,  so  hopeless  ? 

"  I  want  the  best  of  you  to  be  in  league  with 
what  I  know  is  the  best  of  me."  That  was  what 
John  had  said.  It  repeated  itself  over  and  over 
again  to  Margaret  now. 

Jane  got  a  little  tired  of  Matthew,  apart  from 
whatever  Matthew's  seeking  and  lingering  might 
mean.  He  was  somewhat  too  content,  to-day,  per 
haps  ;  he  was  slipping  into  that  easy  assurance  that 


216  ASCUTNEY  STREET. 

had  grown  to  be  his  habit  from  the  way  in  which 
his  world  had  treated  him ;  it  began,  maybe,  to 
seem  easy  enough  to  enter,  if  he  would,  this  other. 

He  talked  a  little  too  much  of  his  own  life,  plans, 
and  resources.  In  the  midst  of  this  wider,  finer 
delight  —  this  outlook  upon  river,  hills,  and  heaven 
that  they  had  come  for,  in  which  might  have  been 
read  to  her,  Jane  knew,  such  wonderful  sentences 
of  a  living  word  —  little  personal  hopes  and  prides 
seemed  trivial,  obtrusive.  She  grew  silent  and  did 
not  listen  to  quite  all  he  said.  It  looked  like  lis 
tening,  though,  and  Dr.  Griffith  interpreted  it  as 
contentment,  if  not  pleasure.  Margaret  detected 
in  the  still  face  the  shade  of  weariness,  the  line  of 
endurance. 

So  they  sailed  past  the  sprinkling  islands  and  up 
the  beautiful  straits,  through  the  long,  deep  dale 
of  the  Sheepscote  between  Upper  Westport  and 
Edgecombe  on  the  east,  and  came  into  bright  Wis- 
casset  Bay. 

Jane  got  the  children  with  her,  a  part  of  the 
time,  after  their  lunch;  but  she  could  not  even 
cling  to  them  without  seeming  to  cling  to  their 
more  special  surrounding ;  and  uncle  Hans  was 
never  spared  from  their  monopoly  long.  She  be 
gan  to  tell  them  a  story,  and  they  called  to  him  to 
come  and  hear.  Then  she  brought  it  to  its  climax 
quickly,  and  Rick  rebelled. 


ASCUTNEY  STREET.  217 

"They  didn't  go  home  and  live  happy  ever 
after,  right  then.  You  've  skipped  !  "  he  cried  re 
sentfully. 

"  Have  I  ?  "  Jane  said,  a  little  listlessly.  "  I  '11 
tell  it  all  over  again,  by-and-by." 

44  Miss  Gregory  is  tired,"  said  Dr.  Griffith. 
"Come  away.  We  are  going  to  haul  up  to  the 
wharf." 

And  he  went  ashore  with  them,  one  in  each 
hand,  his  sister  just  before,  and  so  led  the  way  for 
the  small  party  up  the  bank  and  over  to  the  ancient 
blockhouse  in  the  field. 

Traditions  of  the  old  Indian  times  came  in  there. 
Dr.  Griffith  seemed  to  know  them  all ;  but  he  ap 
pealed  courteously  to  Matthew,  and  left  the  narra 
tion  to  him  wherever  he  took  it  up  most  confidently. 
He  meant  to  give  the  boy  his  chance  in  every  way. 

Afterward,  Matthew  contrived  to  be  first  off  to 
the  shore,  convoying  Miss  Bickstack  and  Jane 
Gregory. 

It  was  easy  to  get  in  advance  of  Miss  Rickstack 
down  there  among  the  shards  and  fragments  of 
loose  rock  and  the  rough  projections  of  the  water- 
worn  cliff  base.  The  good  lady  was  busy  at  once 
in  looking  after  "  queer  stones  ;  "  besides,  she  was 
saying  to  herself,  kind-heartedly,  and  with  a  pleas 
ant  bit  of  self-delusion,  "  We  were  all  young  once." 
Dear,  gentle  soul !  She  had  been  all  her  life,  for 


218  ASCUTNEY  STREET. 

her  own  part,  utterly  innocent  of  any  sentimental 
river-side  ramblings,  or  pairings  off  of  any  sort. 
She  had  not  been  pretty  in  her  girlhood.  As  a 
matter  of  fact,  she  had,  rather,  the  parings  —  if 
one  may  be  pardoned  the  unpremeditated  play  on 
the  word  —  of  all  youthful  social  f oregatherings. 
But  there  is  a  point  in  life,  no  doubt,  where  the 
imaginations  of  the  past  take  shape  into  realities 
through  haze  of  distance,  as  those  of  the  future 
used  to  do.  Very  likely  Miss  Rickstack  thought 
she  had  done  such  things,  or  might  have  done 
them. 

It  was  out  here,  among  the  heaps  and  debris  of 
time  and  river  work,  done  through  centuries  upon 
rock  and  soil  —  as  they  stood  and  peered  far  into 
a  deep  crevice  that,  the  story  says,  runs  back  into 
the  cliff,  away  underground,  and  wras  once  made 
communicable  with  the  rough  stronghold  of  the 
early  settlers ;  at  least,  some  such  half -hidden  fis 
sure  did  so,  and  it  might  well  enough  be  that  — 
that  Matt  said  abruptly,  — 

"  I  can't  bear  to  think  you  are  all  going  off  so 
soon,  Miss  Gregory.  These  have  been  such  pleas 
ant  days." 

"  They  have  been  beautiful  days,"  said  Jane 
calmly.  "  And  we  have  owed  much  of  our  enjoy 
ment  to  you,  Mr.  Morse." 

While  she  spoke,  she  moved  along  to  pick  up  a 


ASCUTNEY  STREET.  219 

clear,  soft,  gray-white,  polished  stone,  that  lay,  con 
spicuous  in  shape  and  color,  among  dark  pebbles. 

If  he  had  said  so  much  to  little  Dorothy  Serle, 
the  pretty  schoolmistress  at  Beech  Point,  she 
would  have  blushed  all  up,  and  caught  her  breath, 
and  waited,  mute  and  fluttering,  for  his  next  word, 

—  a  word  that  he  knew  in  his  conscience  he  had 
stopped  short  of  many  times,  in  his  secret  security 
and  his  half-readiness  to  compromise  his  freedom. 
He  hardly  knew  what  to  make  of  this  emotionless 
Miss  Gregory. 

"  I  don't  feel  satisfied  —  I  wish  I  need  n't  think 

—  that  all  the  acquaintance  would  end  here,"  he 
said,  coming  beside  her  again.     "  If  I  should  come 
to  Boston,  —  I  might,  in  the  winter,  some  time,  — 
would  you  tell  me  where  you  would  be,  and  let  me 
call  and  see  you  ?  " 

"  I  do  not  know  exactly  where  I  —  where   we 

—  shall   be,   Mr.    Morse.      I    expect   to   be   with 
Mrs.  Sunderland.     I  dare  say  she  would  be  very 
happy  to  have  you  come.     But  you  had  better  ask 
her." 

Was  it  shyness,  or  was  it  coldness,  or  was  it  the 
sort  of  encouragement  a  girl  gives  when  she  refers 
to  those  who  have  the  guardianship  or  protection 
of  her  ? 

He  said  no  more  for  a  few  moments,  and  then 
made  different  essay. 


220  ASCUTNEY  STREET. 

"  We  have  never  been  round  Kiggsville  yet,"  he 
said.  "  It 's  a  pretty  row  there,  up  the  creek.  I  'd 
like  to  take  you  one  afternoon  before  you  go." 

To  which  assertion,  for  it  stopped  short  of  ask 
ing,  Jane  said  "  Thank  you,"  without  committal ; 
meaning  and  expecting  to  be  altogether  too  busy 
for  carrying  any  such  idea  into  effect. 

"Miss  Kickstack!"  she  called,  directly  after, 
"  there  are  some  lovely  things  over  here.  And  I 
do  believe  I  've  found  an  arrowhead." 

She  stooped  and  picked  up  a  three-cornered  bit 
of  flint,  and  Miss  Kickstack  came  stumbling  across 
the  moraine. 

Matthew  Morse  did  not  know  whether  he  were 
rebuffed  or  not.  This  kind  of  courteous,  self-pos 
sessed  reserve  was  something  new  to  him.  It 
might  be  a  higher  tone  of  coquetry,  or  a  mere  de 
corum  ;  he  could  not  tell.  It  was  not  scorn,  nor 
affront.  It  was  too  gentle,  too  tranquil.  What 
ever  it  did  mean,  it  meant  all  the  more  thoroughly. 
For  the  moment  he  had  to  be  content  with  that. 

But  she  did  not  sit  at  the  tiller  any  more  with 
Matthew,  going  back.  Matthew  was  interrupted, 
busy  with  rope  and  sail.  They  had  tide  in  their 
favor,  but  the  soft  wind  was  ahead.  Dr.  Griffith 
managed  the  rudder  for  a  good  while  ;  this  left 
Jane  a  chance  to  attach  herself  to  Mrs.  Sunderland 
and  the  children,  which  she  did  with  gladness. 


ASCUTNEY  STREET.  221 

Sweeping  along  with  the  swift  current  into  the 
broad  bay  at  sundown,  the  full  glory  of  that  won 
derful  mingling  and  play  of  color  in  sky  and  sea 
and  shore  broke  forth  before  them.  It  is  impossi 
ble  to  put  it  into  word  or  picture.  The  hand  of 
God  spreads  it  out  in  a  few  such  places ;  our  small, 
human  capacity  may  merely  stand  and  be  filled 
with  it,  nor  dare  to  try  its  reproduction. 

Gold  and  flame-color  and  pale  green  in  the  sky; 
green  and  gold  repeated  in  the  sea ;  a  far-off  ame 
thyst  line  against  the  horizon-bend  ;  the  lovely  hues 
palpitating,  floating,  changing,  like  jewels  massed 
and  molten,  flowing  one  into  another  ;  shores  radi 
ant  with  answering  tints,  breathing  and  shining  in 
rich  leafage,  mirrored  in  still  margins  and  clear 
depths ;  the  creeping  inlets  all  on  fire  with  beauty, 
whether  of  the  earth,  or  of  the  heaven,  it  were  hard 
to  tell ;  a  splendor  flung  back  and  forth  in  echoes 
of  shine  and  sheen  ;  sleeping,  tender  shadows 
waiting  their  turn  to  veil  all  in  a  yet  more  exqui 
site  softness,  upon  which  quiet  stars  will  look  down 
with  benison,  —  this  is  a  hint  of  what  lay  before 
their  eyes  and  reached  into  their  spirits,  as  the  sea 
reaches  up  into  the  glowing  land. 

They  all  stood  forward  and  watched,  Dr.  Griffith 
with  them.  Margaret  drew  a  long  breath  and 
spoke,  — 

"  It  must  be  more  beautiful,  Hans,  than   even 


222  ASCUTNEY  STREET. 

what  you  wrote  us  of  from  up  that  still,  sunshiny 
river.  You  remember,  Jane  ?  " 

She  really  spoke  quite  unpremeditatedly.  Dr. 
Griffith  turned  quickly. 

They  were  all  illumined  in  that  universal  flush 
of  light ;  but  was  it  sunset  color  that  mantled 
Jane's  face  all  over  with  such  revealing  brilliancy  ? 

"  I  remember,"  spoke  up  Alice  eagerly.  "  It 
was  the  letter  that  had  a  seraphim  at  the  end  of 
it." 

The  laugh  was  a  relief,  to  one  at  least.  But 
what  followed  did  not  relieve. 

"  '  A  seraphim  ' !  What  do  you  mean,  dear  little 
child  ?  "  cried  Margaret. 

"  Well,  it  was  something  like  that.  It  was  the 
story  about  the  girl  that  had  her  hat  blow  off  that 
uncle  Hans  told  for  me ;  and  all  about  the  steam 
boat,  and  the  river  piling  up  and  letting  them  go 
by ;  and  the  seraphim  was  something  that  did  n't 
say  much,  but  meant  a  good  deal.  Was  n't  it, 
Jane?" 

Jane  might  blaze,  but  she  stood  like  her  name 
sake  of  Arc  at  the  stake.  When  things  were  at 
the  worst  she  had  her  heroism,  —  the  heroism  of  a 
simple  directness. 

"  I  remember  it  very  well,"  she  said.  "  But  the 
word  you  mean  was  '  aphorism.' r 

She  knew  it  to  the  last  word,  then.     And   all 


ASCUTNEY  STREET.  223 

that  about  herself  which  had  declared  Dr.  Grif 
fith's  identity  to  her  —  and  in  such  fashion  —  be 
fore  they  met,  that  second  time,  in  Ascutney 
Street. 

She  had  known  whom  to  expect  to  meet.  She 
had  known  what  his  first  thought  of  her  had 
been.  That  was  the  disclosure  now  between  these 
two. 

A  mutual  perception  was  suddenly  established 
between  Jane  Gregory  and  Dr.  Griffith  that  could 
not  be  ignored,  any  more  than  it  could,  at  this  in 
stant,  be  acknowledged  or  dwelt  upon.  The  flash 
through  one  mind  was  — "  How  much  did  that 
color  mean  beyond  the  inevitable  embarrassment 
of  appropriating  —  being  known  to  have  appropri 
ated  —  all  that  had  been  said  of  her  in  the  telling 
of  that  little  story?"  In  the  other,  "  He  knows, 
now,  how  I  knew ;  but  he  does  not  seem  as  if  he 
cared  so  much  as  when  he  first  asked  me."  And 
Jane  held  up  her  head  proudly ;  that  a  simple 
fact  should  appear  was  neither  her  fault  nor  her 
concern. 

John  Griffith  noted  that  also.  "She  lets  the 
truth  take  care  of  itself,"  he  thought ;  and  again 
her  brave  simplicity  laid  strong  hold  of  the  noblest 
that  was  in  himself.  "She  does  not  look  for  a 
sign  ;  she  would  die  rather  than  have  one  escape 
her.  She  is  not  a  coquette  ;  she  is  a  woman." 


224  ASCUTNEY  STREET. 

At  the  same  instant  Margaret  scanned  the  two 
faces  swiftly,  and  read  them  both.  With  lovely 
tact  she  reverted  to  her  first  question. 

" 1  think  this  must  be  even  more  beautiful  than 
that,  John,"  she  said  again. 

"  A  second  beautiful  thing  is  better  understood 
from  having  known  the  first,"  John  answered. 

"  And  that 's  another  aphorism,"  said  Alice 
quaintly. 

Uncle  John  told  her  that  she  ought  to  patent 
her  system  of  mnemonics,  left  her  to  ask  her 
mother  what  that  meant,  and  walked  away. 

Certainly,  the  knight's  move  is  sometimes  very 
erratic.  In  the  dream  of  the  looking-glass,  at 
every  critical  juncture,  especially  of  any  little  tri 
umph  or  advantage,  it  was  to  tumble  sidewise  off 
his  horse. 

"  John,"  said  Margaret  to  Dr.  Griffith  that 
night,  after  the  children  had  gone  up  to  bed  with 
Jane,  "  the  chance  is  yours.  You  can't  give  it  to 
anybody  else,  if  you  try.  And,  John,  dear,  I  'in 
on  your  side ;  and  do  make  haste." 

"  Gretel !  Why  what  has  swept  you  over,  quite 
to  the  other  extreme  ?  " 

"That's  the  queen's  move,  isn't  it?"  asked 
Margaret,  laughing.  But  the  tears  were  in  her 
eyes.  "  Don't  leave  it  any  longer  to  that  Matthew 


ASCUTNEY  STREET.  225 

Morse,"  she  said  softly.  "  There  is  n't  much  time 
now." 

"  There  is  n't  any,  just  at  present,  Gretel.  And 
I  thought  you  were  quite  sure.  I  certainly  need 
not  be  in  haste." 

"  Sure  ?  Of  one  thing  —  yes,  I  am ;  but  there 
are  so  many  things." 

"  I  shall  be  back  on  Saturday,"  said  Dr.  Grif 
fith.  And  for  thanks  he  took  his  sister  in  his  arms 
and  kissed  her. 

44  He  '11  leave  it  all.  He  11  be  off  for  three  days. 
He  thinks  it  will  make  no  difference.  I  wonder 
how  men  ever  do  get  married  !  "  was  what  Mistress 
Margaret  said,  perturbedly,  to  herself. 

"Well,  Matt,  and  how  did  it  go  with  Lady 
bird,  to  -  day  ?  "  asked  old  Captain  Zenas  of  his 
son,  as  they  sat  at  supper. 

"It  all  went  well,  father,"  was  the  reply. 

"  And  how  —  with  both  ladybirds,  I  mean  ?  " 

"  I  think  it  went  well,  father.     I  hope  so." 

"  You  'd  be  sorry,  Matt,  if  it  did  n't,  would 
you?" 

"I  should  be  more  sorry  than  I  know  how  to 
be." 

He  spoke  literal  truth.  He  had  never  learned 
how  to  be  sorry. 

"  Somehow  —  it 's   a   queer   world  —  somebody 


22G  ASCUTNEY  STREET. 

most  alwers  hes  to  be  sorry,  whatever  happens. 
Little  Dorothy  would  be  sorry,  Matt.  And  may 
be  somebody  else  would  be  sorry  after  that  other 
girl.  It 's  a  dreadful  queer  world.  I  'm  sorry 
for  little  Dorothy,  myself.  I  might  ha'  gone  to 
day,  Matt,  I  suppose  ;  but  some  way,  I  did  n't  feel 
to  keer  to,  quite." 

The  simple  words  of  his  old  father  found  a 
place  in  Matthew's  heart  that  had  never  been 
reached  before. 

For  the  first  time  in  his  life  he  felt  what  a  disap 
pointed  hope  might  be. 

Had  he  given  any  hope  that  he  might  be  guilty 
in  disappointing  ? 

Yet  how  could  he  help  it  ?  He  had  never 
known  anything  like  this  before.  How  could  he 
have  understood  ? 

He  got  up  and  went  out.  He  went  on  board 
the  Ladybird  that  swung  at  her  quiet  mooring. 
He  sat  down  on  the  tiller-bench,  where  Jane  had 
sat. 


CHAPTER  XV. 

THOSE  next  three  days  were  not  nice  ones  for 
Jane. 

"  She  's  in  a  wee-waw,"  said  Aunty  to  Margaret, 
at  last.  "  And  when  a  woman 's  in  a  wee-waw 
about  them  things  —  Lor'  sake,  Mis'  Sunderland, 
I  could  n't  never  'ave  stood  it,  an'  that 's  just  why 
I  had  to  leave  it  alone  !  " 

Jane  was  deep  in  a  fixed  self-disdain  by  this 
time. 

What  had  she  treasured  up  in  the  memory  of 
that  first  meeting,  like  a  raw,  romance-reading,  ig 
norant  girl,  to  join  afterward  with  the  discovery 
that  had  been  her  secret  for  a  while,  only  to  inten 
sify  her  folly,  and  that  the  betrayal  of  all  should 
come  at  once,  now  that  it  had  apparently  ceased  to 
be  of  interest  to  Dr.  Griffith  ? 

How  had  she  fallen  into  depreciation  with  him, 
slipped  from  the  dignity  of  simple  womanhood,  in 
which  he  had  given  her  the  beginning  of  a  beauti 
ful  friendship,  to  the  position  of  a  weak  creature 
toward  whom  it  was  a  kindness  on  a  man's  part  to 
assume  cool,  guarded  distance  ? 


228  ASCUTNEY  STREET. 

Margaret  was  even  sweeter  than  ever.  Was 
this  a  woman's  compassion  for  a  woman  in  such 
strait,  —  sunken  to  such  evident,  pitiable  self-aban 
donment  that  all  must  do  what  could  be  done  to 
silently  help  her  up  from  it  ? 

The  temptation  did  come  upon  her,  transiently, 
to  give  utter  contradiction  to  this  need  in  the  most 
positive  way  ;  a  way  that,  had  it  not  been  shut  to 
her  by  this  very  foolishness,  she  could  even  see 
might  have  been  a  good  way. 

How  did  she  know  but  this  was  what  was  truly 
meant  for  her,  and  that  she  should  grow  content, 
once  having  put  the  other  irrevocably  out  of  her 
thought? 

She  should  have  God  and  his  beautiful  world, 
anyway ;  if  He  put  her  here,  in  this  Paradise 
of  his,  should  she  not  thank  Him  and  serve 
Him,  —  "  acquaint  herself  with  Him,  and  be  at 
peace  "  ? 

Did  Eve  look  about  in  Eden,  or  out  into  the  wil 
derness,  for  any  other  than  the  Adam  by  whose 
side  —  because,  without  her  choice,  she  was  of  his 
side  —  the  Lord  had  set  her  ? 

Ah,  but  this  being  of  a  man  —  one  living  flesh 
with  him  in  God's  own  sight  —  what  strange  be 
wilderment  had  Eden  come  to,  in  this  crowded 
world  where  each  —  brought  into  casual  personal 
presence  with  but  few.  and  so  imperfectly  —  must 


ASCUTNEY  STREET.  229 

find  and  choose  out  of  the  millions  of  a  generation 
her  very  own  ? 

One's  own  could  not  come  to  every  one.  Should 
she  take  another's  then  ? 

No  ;  she  could  stay  alone.  Because  a  little  door 
—  too  low  and  narrow  for  her,  like  the  one  in  Al 
ice's  dream  —  was  the  only  one  she  could  discover, 
must  she  drink  that  strange  and  perilous  draught 
which  would  make  her  spiritually  small  enough  to 
enter  ? 

She  thought  these  things  all  out  within  herself 
while  busy,  outwardly,  with  the  children  and  the 
trunks  and  the  packing  ;  while  she  told  stories  and 
played  games  with  them  on  that  rainy  Thursday 
and  dull  Friday  that  followed  their  enchanted  sum 
mer  sail. 

She  stayed  upstairs  when  Matthew  Morse  came 
in  below ;  he  did  not  like  to  ask  for  her,  and  so 
escape  was  easy.  She  thought  she  could  keep  on 
escaping  for  just  these  few  days  ;  if  not,  whatever 
she  had  to  do  would  not  be  her  fault. 

She  was  only  determined  that  it  should  not  be 
that  row  to  Riggsville. 

The  Saturday  came,  clear  but  cooler.  The  wind 
was  from  the  west,  with  now  and  then  a  snap  of 
north  in  it.  Matthew  Morse  came  round  in  the 
morning  with  his  yacht ;  he  was  going  to  Squirrel 
Island  to  take  a  party  up  to  Bath  on  their  way 


230  ASCUTNEY  STREET. 

home.  The  children  ran  in  to  tell  that  he  had  left 
his  rowboat  —  that  pretty  Dragonfly  —  in  the  little 
cove. 

"  Be  sure  you  don't  go  near  it,"  said  Mrs.  Sun- 
derland.  "  You  promise  ?  " 

Eick  and  Alice  promised  their  mother  aloud; 
Jane  promised  herself  as  positively  in  silence. 

In  the  afternoon  they  were  all  out  in  the  warm 
pine  grove  behind  the  cottage  ;  it  was  still  and 
sheltered  there  ;  it  had  been  their  favorite  resort 
in  the  latter  part  of  the  day,  with  their  books  and 
work.  They  sat  there  now,  rather  more  wrapped 
in  shawls  and  sacques  than  made  work  convenient ; 
but  covetous  of  every  last  hour  in  every  pleasant 
place. 

The  children  were  feeding  some  squirrels  that 
had  grown  tame  enough  to  come  almost  within 
their  reach  for  crumbs.  They  were  watching  them 
scud  along  a  regular  route,  from  the  big  old  tree 
where  they  had  their  nest  in  a  hollow,  —  up  its 
shaggy  trunk,  out  on  its  farthest-reaching  knobby 
branch ;  a  flight  across  to  the  tip  of  the  low, 
horizontal  stretch  of  the  next  one  ;  up  and  down 
and  across  from  limb  to  limb,  one  little  plumy- 
tailed  fellow  after  another,  with  always  the  same 
turns  and  runs  and  springs,  which  the  children 
were  never  tired  of  following,  —  till  they  stood 
with  their  bright  eyes  glancing  this  way  and  that, 


ASCUTNEY  STREET.  231 

tails  waving  and  arching,  chattering,  scolding  ;  the 
same  invariable  hesitation  at  the  same  point  about 
coming  nearer,  which  was  always  overcome  at  last 
in  the  same  way,  till  down  they  rushed  —  "  a  whole 
stream  of  squirrels,"  Alice  said  —  over  the  back  of 
the  last  bent  stem  to  where  she  and  Rick  had 
strewed  bits  of  bread  and  apple,  to  fill  their 
cheeks  with  these,  and  then  scamper  off  over  their 
"  branch-road,"  to  a  safe  perch  where  they  could 
take  "  three  minutes  for  refreshments,"  and  munch 
in  comfort. 

"  We  shall  miss  them  so  !  "  said  the  little  peo 
ple. 

"  But  we  shall  have  Daisy  and  Dandelion,  and 
Shag  and  Shock,  and  all  the  new  kittens  at  Bay 
Hill,"  said  their  mother.  "  And  may  be  next  year 
we  will  come  and  see  the  squirrels  again." 

She  could  not  help  glancing  at  Jane  as  she  said 
that ;  and  that  Jane's  face  was  of  an  unreadable 
stillness  only  offered  a  blank  into  which  Mrs.  Sun- 
derland  thought  she  could  put  for  herself  some 
easy  syllables. 

The  tip  of  a  white  sail,  like  a  bird's  wing,  ap 
peared  above  the  green  edge  of  the  bank  beyond 
them,  where  the  hill  sloped  steeply  to  the  narrow 
channel  on  the  Southport  side.  It  slid  along, 
seeming  to  cleave  a  way  between  the  soft,  blending 
lines  of  either  shore. 


232  ASCUTNEY  STREET. 

"  It  is  Matt  come  back !  "  cried  Eick.  "  May  n't 
we  go  clown  now,  mamma  ?  " 

Jane  let  go  her  self  -  command,  and  half  lost  her 
head. 

Startling  from  the  thought  of  what  might  next 
be  expected  of  her  with  the  children,  she  sprang  to 
her  feet  and  spoke  hurriedly,  confusedly,  to  Mrs. 
Sunderland. 

"  Would  you  please  —  excuse  me  —  just  a  little 
while  ?  I  can't  —  I  want  to  go  —  I  have  a  head 
ache  —  I  'd  like  a  walk,  all  by  myself,"  she  said. 

She  tied  the  strings  of  her  gypsy  hat  firmly 
under  her  chin,  for  the  wind  was  brisk ;  it  made  a 
soft,  continual  rush  overhead  there,  in  the  tops  of 
the  thick  pines. 

"  Take  your  shawl,"  said  Mrs.  Sunderland,  as 
senting  as  of  course. 

Now  the  shawl  was  a  soft,  knit  thing,  of  cardinal 
red. 

"  Oh,  no  !  "  Jane  answered,  with  quick  positive- 
ness.  "  My  jacket  will  do."  And  she  buttoned  it 
closer,  as  she  turned  and  sped  swiftly  off  between 
the  dark  trees. 

It  was  then  that  Aunty  said  to  Margaret  that 
the  girl  was  in  a  wee-waw. 

Jane  kept  in  the  grove  as  far  as  it  reached  ; 
then  she  hastened  across  toward  the  ridge,  through 
a  little  dip  in  the  pasture  land  beyond  ;  choosing 


ASCUTNEY  STREET.  233 

a  harder  path  and  farther  from  the  cove  than  the 
one  she  had  climbed  with  Dr.  Griffith,  that  she 
might  make  the  shelter  of  a  group  of  cedars,  and 
reach  the  top  beyond  it,  where  she  would  not  be 
observed  from  anywhere  about  the  cottage. 

She  had  the  fleeing  instinct  upon  her,  which 
seizes  a  creature  bodily  when  the  mind  finds  no 
safe  way  to  turn  ;  to  get  off  as  far  as  she  could  — 
to  be  alone  —  to  escape  everything,  became  a  wild 
desire. 

In  the  mean  time,  Matthew  came  up  through  the 
orchard  into  the  pines,  met  Mrs.  Sunderland,  and 
asked  with  direct  purpose  for  Miss  Gregory. 

"  She  has  a  headache,"  said  that  lady.  "  She 
has  gone  off  to  be  quiet.  I  am  sorry,  —  but  —  I 
do  not  think  she  would  wish  to  be  sent  for." 

Matt's  face  fell. 

"  I  came  to  ask  her  to  have  a  row  with  me  — 
over  to  Eiggsville." 

"  I  'm  afraid  it 's  out  of  the  question ;  and, 
is  n't  it  rather  too  windy  for  comfort,  anyway  ?  " 
asked  Mrs.  Sunderland,  willing  to  soften  with  ex 
ternal  reason  the  personal  refusal. 

"  You  feel  it  more  on  shore  than  you  need  to 
on  the  water,"  answered  Matt.  "Among  these 
islands  you  can  always  get  under  the  lee  of  some 
thing.  That's  the  beauty  of  being  landlocked. 
You  can  row  or  sail,  when  you  could  n't  walk  upon 


234  ASCUTNEY  STREET. 

the  cliffs.  It  may  blow  for  an  hour  or  two,  but 
it  '11  calm  down  by  sunset.  Don't  you  think  it 
might  do  her  good,  perhaps,  to  go?  " 

His  eyes  met  Mrs.  Sunderland's  as  he  spoke,  and 
if  ever  a  man's  eyes  said  anything  to  a  woman's, 
there  were  words  in  his  at  that  moment.  "  Ah,  do 
be  on  my  side ! "  they  plainly  besought. 

Margaret's  heart  smote  her  that  it  had  come  to 
this.  She  must  be  on  his  side  ;  but  it  could  not  be 
as  he  asked.  It  must  be  to  spare  him  ;  she  had  to 
look  steadily,  kindly,  at  him,  and  reply,  "  I  do  not 
think  so." 

Then  Matthew  broke  forth,  "  How  much  don't 
you  think,  Mrs.  Sunderland  ?  I  want  to  see  her. 
I  shall  have  so  little  chance  now.  I  know  it  is  too 
soon  —  for  her  ;  but  it 's  all  dead  sure  with  me.  I 
want  to  ask  her  —  just  to  remember  me,"  said  the 
poor  fellow ;  and  drops  stood  with  the  flush  upon 
his  forehead. 

Margaret  knew  what  real  mercy  was. 

"  Matthew,"  she  said,  "  we  all  like  you  too  well 
to  be  willing  to  hurt  you.  And  so  /  think  there  is 
something  you  will  have  to  give  up." 

"  You  think  ;  but  you  do  not  know  ?  " 

"  I  will  find  out  for  you,  Matthew  ;  I  believe  I 
have  found  out  already ;  I  wish  I  could  have  seen 
sooner,  for  I  might  have  saved  you  something. 
But  I  will  be  honest  for  you  now,  and  I  will  tell 
you  honestly." 


ASCUTN&Y  STREET.  235 

And  with  that  Matthew  Morse  had  to  go  away. 

An  hour  and  a  half  later,  the  little  steamer 
touched  at  Leeport  Landing,  and  Dr.  Griffith  came 
ashore. 

He  found  Margaret  in  the  cottage  parlor,  pale, 
uneasy.  "  O  John !  "  she  cried,  "  she  has  been 
gone,  alone,  this  ever  so  long,  and  the  wind  blows 
so  !  She  must  have  gone  a  strange,  long  way." 

"What  did  she  go  for?" 

"  Because  Matt  Morse  came  for  her,  with  his 
boat." 

"  You  mean  she  went  with  him  ?  " 

"  Oh,  no,  no !  she  would  n't.  She  went  off  out 
of  his  way." 

"Did  she  go  up  the  ridge?"  John  Griffith 
asked ;  and  Margaret  guessed  from  his  tone  and 
look  the  danger. 

"  Oh,  I  don't  know !  She  was  just  wild  to  get 
off ;  she  may  have  gone  anywhere  !  " 

John  took  two  tall  sticks  from  the  parlor  corner  : 
one  was  his  own  alpenstock,  iron-pointed  ;  the  other 
a  stout  oak  pole,  trimmed  and  ferruled. 

He  went  to  the  door  and  whistled.  Sachem,  a 
splendid  spaniel,  —  until  lately  with  his  brother, 
Sagamore,  the  property  of  the  old  farmer,  Azel 
Morse,  but  in  these  recent  weeks,  by  that  instinc 
tive  friendship  which  attaches  chosen  beast  to 
chosen  man,  and  by  exchange  of  value  in  dollars, 


236  ASCUTNEY  STREET. 

transferred  to  Dr.  Griffith  —  Sachem,  who  had 
just  met  his  master  at  the  landing  and  tumultu- 
ously  escorted  him  homeward,  came  rushing  in  de 
lightedly. 

"  Give  me  something  of  hers  —  ah,  this  will  do," 
and  the  doctor  picked  up  the  little  red  shawl  which 
he  knew  quite  well.  He  held  it  for  the  dog  to 
sniff,  then  rolled  it  up  under  his  arm. 

44  Where  did  she  start  from  ?  "  he  asked  Mar 
garet. 

"  From  the  bench  under  the  two  pines,"  she  told 
him.  "  But  oh,  Hans  !  are  you  going  on  the  cliff  ? 
How  shall  I  know  —  how  can  you  tell  —  what  may 
have  happened,  —  whether  you  can  do,  alone  ?  " 

"  Give  me  your  handkerchief,"  he  said.  "  I 
will  send  Sachem  back  with  this  ;  if  I  tie  a  knot  in 
it,  all  is  well,  and  I  want  nothing ;  if  he  brings  it 
loose,  send  help.  Now  you  may  be  easy." 

There  had  not  been  two  minutes  lost ;  the  doctor 
was  off,  first  to  the  little  bench  between  the  trees, 
where  he  gave  Sachem  the  scent  again. 

"  Follow  !  Find !  "  he  commanded  ;  and  the 
dog,  after  circling  and  sniffing  a  moment,  darted 
away  over  the  soft  brown  needle-mould,  in  the  way 
Jane  had  taken. 

Jane,  meanwhile,  had  at  first  pushed  on  mechan 
ically,  without  thought  or  calculation  as  to  distance 
or  return. 


ASCUTNEY  STREET.  237 

She  had  gained  the  crest  of  the  ridge,  and  upon 
its  broader,  northern  stretch,  like  a  high  moor,  had 
walked  on,  with  plenty  of  leeway  for  yielding  to 
the  force  of  the  keen,  bright  wind,  which  rather 
nerved  and  toned  her  for  exertion  than  gave  her 
any  anxiety.  She  leaned  against  it,  as  it  were, 
and  let  it  help  her  forward,  as  with  a  kind,  strong 
hand.  There  was  a  certain  comfort  in  feeling  its 
support  and  urging ;  she  had  so  little  else  to  lean 
against,  in  any  sense,  just  now  ! 

It  came  in  sweeps  and  lulls.  If  she  had  been 
more  weatherwise,  this  gusty  character  would  have 
warned  her  of  the  more  possible  risk ;  as  it  was, 
she  kept  on,  the  inward  impulse  still  driving  her 
forward,  and  a  secret  desire  drawing  her  toward 
the  wild,  beautiful  spot  where  she  had  spent  one 
such  marvelous  hour.  Above  everything,  as  she 
had  said ;  to  get  above,  beyond,  —  this  was  her 
prompting  now,  simply  to  escape ;  by  and  by  she 
must  do  her  own  thinking,  her  resolving.  The 
future  must  be  all  redetermined,  perhaps ;  but  she 
would  not  look  at  it  yet. 

On ;  over  the  scrambling,  difficult  gaps  and  out 
crops  ;  up  and  down  the  cross  ridges,  like  great 
vertebras  of  a  colossal  spine,  to  the  beginning  of 
the  narrow  neck  with  the  steep,  inward  incline  on 
one  side,  and  the  jagged,  seaward  precipices  on  the 
other. 


238  ASCUTNEY  STREET. 

It  did  not  take  long  to  cross  ;  in  those  moments 
the  wind  made  one  of  its  brief  pauses.  Jane 
climbed  and  clung  well ;  she  was  safely  over  to  the 
head  of  the  cliff-fissure  which  she  had  descended 
with  Dr.  Griffith. 

Once  below  the  frowning  top,  she  was  in  a  calm ; 
no  touch  of  the  wind  reached  her.  She  did  not 
venture  quite  so  far  as  the  doctor  had  led  her,  but 
found  a  scooped-out  hollow,  part  way  down,  with  a 
bolstering  edge  of  rough  rock  forward ;  here  she 
placed  herself,  and  set  her  spirit  free  into  that 
wide,  glorious  distance. 

It  was  as  if  all  troubling,  impassioned  thoughts 
that  had  been  bound  in  upon  herself,  chafing  and 
fretting  like  caged  things,  were  let  loose  upon  the 
living  air  that  lifted  them  from  her  and  bore  them 
away,  lost  in  its  overflowing  vastness. 

She  sat  there,  breathing  quietness,  expanding 
into  strength. 

Above  her,  the  wind  rose  in  higher,  more  impet 
uous  gusts.  It  smote  itself  against  the  rough  in 
land  steep,  and  swirled  upward.  It  rushed,  view 
less,  from  the  lip  of  the  crag  over  her  head. 
Across  the  jagged  bridge  that  she  had  passed,  it 
swept  clean,  resistless.  She  could  not  have  stood 
there  now. 

Half  an  hour  later,  she  clambered  upward,  and 
met  it  in  its  face. 


ASCUTNEY  STREET.  239 

Happily,  the  fissure  path  led  round  a  point  of 
crag  that  was  between  her  and  the  sea.  Against 
this  she  paused,  almost  pinned  there  by  the  gale. 

She  crept  and  struggled  a  little  way,  on  hands 
and  knees,  then  wedged  herself  into  a  side  crevice, 
and  waited. 

How  should  she  ever  cross  that  mauvais  pas  ? 

It  stretched  before  her  ;  she  could  see  its  length  ; 
it  was  like  the  neck  of  a  great  animal  whose  head 
was  turned  toward  the  sea.  Just  in  the  turn,  below 
the  beetling  uplift  of  the  head  itself,  was  her  own 
safe,  small  nestling-place.  But  how  long  could  she 
stay  there  ?  How  long  before  the  wind  would  all 
rush  by  ? 

"  It  goes  down  with  the  sun,"  she  had  heard  the 
country  people  say,  in  such  a  fair-weather  blow.  If 
it  would  only  calm  so  that  she  might  crawl  over ! 

She  studied  out  a  possible  pathway  in  the  cracks 
and  windings  that  she  could  see,  from  rock  to  rock. 
If  there  came  any  cessation  she  must  try,  she  must 
begin. 

At  the  outset  of  a  pain  or  a  peril,  it  never  seems 
that  it  can  last.  It  had  not  been  blowing  like  that 
a  half  hour  before.  Why  should  it  blow  on  a  half 
hour  longer  ?  But  every  minute  that  she  waited 
there  seemed  ten. 

For  a  good  while  she  did  not  give  way  to  abso 
lute  terror.  But  it  came  at  last.  She  trembled 


240  ASCUTNEY  STREET. 

all  over  as  she  sat  there.  What  if  it  should  last 
all  night? 

She  bent  her  head  down  upon  her  knees,  and 
prayed  to  Him  who  ruleth  the  storm. 

She  never  knew  how  long  it  had  been,  when  she 
caught  a  distant  sound  borne  toward  her  by  the 
very  blast  —  the  sharp,  quick  bark  of  a  dog ;  the 
voice  of  a  man  who  cheered  him  on.  They  were 
coming  for  her. 

Who  was  coming?  And  how  had  anybody 
known  ? 

She  stood  up  and  watched  along  that  rugged 
side-slant.  Between  the  wall  of  wind  and  the  wall 
of  cliff  she  was  held,  with  only  a  half  yard's  width 
for  her  feet. 

Upon  the  broader,  humping  shoulder  of  the 
huge  ledge-form,  she  saw,  presently,  the  man.  A 
tall,  strong  figure  that  advanced  just  under  the 
crest,  the  wind  holding  him,  as  it  did  her,  away 
from  the  descent.  He  could  not  come  much 
further,  so. 

She  cried  out  to  him  to  stop;  but  the  wind 
whirled  her  voice  off  into  the  great  spaces  with  its 
own.  She  stretched  out  her  arms,  her  hands  held 
up,  palms  forward,  bidding  him  back  with  the  ges 
ture.  Then  she  sat  down,  quietly,  to  show  him  she 
was  safe  and  self-possessed. 

The  dog  stood  and  bayed  at  her,  half  in  triumph 


ASCUTNEY  STREET.  241 

half  at  fault.  She  could  only  guess  what  his  mas 
ter  said  to  him,  and  interpret  it  by  the  dog's  ac 
tion. 

"  Down,  Sachem  !  Charge  !  "  and  the  docile, 
sagacious  creature  crouched  and  planted  himself 
at  Dr.  Griffith's  feet,  his  nose  level  toward  Jane, 
his  bright  eye  fixed  on  her,  she  knew,  as  in  his 
keeping. 

Dr.  Griffith  leaned  back  against  the  shelving 
bank,  and  took  his  memorandum  book  from  his 
pocket.  He  wrote  a  few  lines  upon  a  bit  of  paper, 
and  tucked  this  tightly  into  the  little  red  shawl 
bundle  which  he  had  tied  round  with  a  bit  of 
string.  The  ends  of  the  string  he  fastened  to  the 
dog's  collar,  and  put  the  soft  roll  into  Sachem's 
mouth.  "  Now,  give  it  to  her !  "  he  shouted,  and 
pointed  over  at  Jane. 

Where  two  feet  and  greater  height  could  not 
have  gone  —  through  gullies  and  crannies,  choosing 
the  safest  track,  sometimes  scrambling  along  under 
the  overhanging  edge  upon  the  island  side,  his  tail 
held  gallantly  aloft,  with  silken  fringes  that  the 
wind  blew  like  a  cavalier's  plume  —  came  Sachem, 
struggling,  proud,  hilarious,  and  laid  his  muzzle, 
presently,  with  the  burden  in  charge,  upon  Jane's 
knees. 

On  the  slip  of  paper  was  written,  —  again  it  was 
a  recipe  blank  that  he  had  taken,  —  "  Keep  as  you 


242  ASCUTNEY  STREET. 

are  until  I  come  to  you.  Make  Sachem  stay.  I 
will  wait  and  watch  my  chance  ;  the  wind  will  lull. 
Do  not  be  afraid." 

Jane  laid  her  hand  on  the  dog's  head.  "  Charge, 
Sachem !  "  she  said  softly.  And  Sachem,  obeying 
the  gentle  breath  as  if  it  had  been  the  sternest  or 
der,  laid  himself  down  beside  her,  his  chin  across 
her  feet. 

Jane  wrapped  the  red  shawl  around  her,  crossed 
it  over  her  breast,  and  tied  it  fast  behind. 

On  each  side  the  intervening  danger,  they  waited. 
They  bided  their  time  in  each  other's  sight,  each 
still  and  patient  that  the  other  might  be  likewise. 

In  this  parable  of  circumstance,  thoughts  —  per 
haps  they  were  hardly  definite  —  moved  between 
them  that  they  might  never  speak.  They  were 
separated;  but  the  very  separation  drew  them 
close. 

Jane  felt  in  a  strange  peace.  He  was  there ;  he 
would  come  to  her.  He  would  not  be  in  any  reck 
less  haste.  He  would  do  the  right  thing.  When 
it  was  time,  he  would  be  by  her  side. 

John  Griffith  waited  but  to  claim  his  own.  He 
knew  now  that  it  was  his  own  ;  that  it  should  be, 
through  whatever  stress,  whatever  forces  of  inter 
ruption. 

On  either  side  a  deeper  abyss,  with  fiercer  blast 
• —  even  the  rushing,  invisible  mights  that  part  the 


ASCUTNEY  STREET.  243 

worlds  —  between  them,  they  would  yet  stay  but 
for  the  moment  that  should  bring  them  hand  to 
hand  again,  ay,  soul  to  soul. 

Had  they  not  found  each  other  in  all  the  won 
derful  stretch  and  surge  of  time  and  mystery  of 
causes,  —  the  seeming  random  of  birth  and  place 
and  incident,  —  and  how  should  anything  fail  them 
now? 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

THE  muteness  and  the  pause  were  deep  and 
grand  with  meanings  that  no  easy  lover's  talk 
could  ever  touch.  The  power  about  them  that 
held  them  so  —  that  with  its  own  great  voice 
hushed  theirs  —  was  not  a  dread  or  threat ;  it  was 
assurance,  promise. 

The  gale  began  to  catch  its  breath.  As  the  sun 
went  lower,  and  the  air  cooled  over  the  sea,  it  came 
less  impetuously  down  into  the  ocean  spaces  from 
its  mountain  heights  ;  it  rested  ;  it  panted ;  then 
for  an  instant  it  would  sweep  on  again.  But  its 
velocity  was  less  terrible ;  down  in  the  low  places 
it  would  be  but  a  lively  breeze. 

At  the  first  real  check,  Dr.  Griffith  moved.  He 
had  made  cool  calculation  ;  he  had  mapped  his 
track,  partly  following  Sachem's  instinctive  lead. 
He  knew  where  he  could  plant  his  alpenstock, 
in  those  rough  slants  and  crevices,  and  keep  his 
feet  this  side  the  perilous  crest-edge.  He  had 
strapped  his  soft  felt  hat  tightly  to  his  head ;  he 
would  have  no  absurdities  of  inconvenience  here. 
He  could  stoop,  or  creep,  if  need  be  ;  he  would  set 


ASCUTNEY  STREET.  245 

his  strong  limbs  and  stalwart  frame  compact 
against  the  danger ;  he  would  grasp  the  very  hill 
side  and  get  over  there  to  Jane. 

And  so  he  did  get  over.  And  down  beside  the 
dog  he  sat  himself,  on  what  length  was  left  of  the 
rock-shelf;  his  feet  and  alpenstock  holding  him 
against  a  break  of  the  ledge  below. 

"  Jane !  "  He  said  the  little  name  boldly,  and 
looked  up  at  her  face  with  something  of  fun  in  his 
eyes,  now  that  he  had  found  her  and  they  were 
both  safe.  For  he  was  sure,  now,  that  he  could 
help  her  across ;  now,  he  could  do  almost  anything. 

"  Jane ! "  He  said  it  twice.  She  looked  at 
him,  and  a  brightness  broke  all  over  her  face. 

"Dr.  —  Hansell!  "  she  answered,  with  a  timid 
ripple  in  her  voice. 

"  A  high  wind  seems  to  be  an  essential  element 
in  our  history." 

"  It  is  growing  calmer  now." 

"  Yes ;  every  moment.  It  will  be  beautiful 
soon.  Come,  will  you  trust  yourself  with  me  ?  " 

He  got  up  as  he  spoke,  braced  with  one  knee 
against  the  rock  ;  he  put  the  strong  oak  staff  into 
her  right  hand  ;  changed  his  alpenstock  into  his 
left ;  reached  up  to  her  with  his  right  arm,  and 
lifted  her  along  beside  him. 

"  Go,  Sachem  !  "  he  ordered.     "  Back,  sir !  " 

He  could  not  point  his  command  ;  neither  hand 


246  ASCUTNEY  STREET. 

was  free.  But  Sachem  knew  well  enough;  the 
bright  fellow  set  his  plume  on  high,  and  was  off. 
And  they  two  followed. 

Carefully,  holding  her  close  to  himself  on  the 
one  side  as  he  bore  against  the  still  vigorous  wind 
on  the  other,  bidding  her  where  to  step  and  where 
to  set  her  stick,  he  conquered  the  difficult  way  with 
her  and  for  her,  point  by  point. 

He  only  spoke  the  few  words  of  guidance  that 
she  needed,  until  he  had  her  beyond  the  pass  ;  then 
he  seated  her  for  a  moment,  took  a  handkerchief 
from  his  breast-pocket,  tied  it  in  a  knot,  and  called 
Sachem. 

The  dog,  careering  back  and  forth  upon  the 
broader  height,  came  close.  His  master  put  the 
handkerchief  between  his  teeth.  "  Go  home !  "  he 
said.  "  Carry !  "  Sachem  looked  wistfully  an  in 
stant,  then  turned  and  sped. 

"That  is  to  let  Margaret  know  that  you  are 
safe,"  he  told  her. 

He  had  called  her  Jane  ;  speaking  to  herself,  he 
called  his  sister  Margaret.  There  was  some  quite 
new  assumption,  some  strong,  gentle  claim,  in 
word  and  tone. 

"  I  shall  take  you  by  another  path,  a  down 
ward  climb  ;  we  will  go  home  by  the  shore,  where 
it  is  still.  A  little  further  we  shall  find  the  way." 

He  held  her  fast  again  as  they  crossed  obliquely 


ASCUTNEY  STREET.  247 

to  the  seaward  brow,  and  lifted  her  there  into  the 
entrance  of  a  long  gully,  whose  rough  depth  gave 
them  shelter  as  they  followed  it  down  the  broken 
scrag  toward  the  narrow  strip  of  beach  where  the 
hungry  sea  was  lapping. 

Alternately  leading  and  lifting  her,  or  giving 
her  hands  a  strong  grasp  for  a  spring  across  from 
rock  to  rock,  he  piloted  her  safely  till  they  stood 
upon  the  rim  of  sand,  behind  which  the  whole  tow 
ering  ridge  stood  guard  between  them  and  the  de 
feated  northwest  wind. 

The  warmth  of  the  sunny  day  was  sleeping  here 
still ;  they  had  but  to  walk  in  the  sweet  stillness 
upon  which  the  low  whisper  of  the  slow-curling 
comb  was  the  only  break,  till  they  came  to  the 
spur  of  rock  around  or  over  which  they  would 
reach  the  sandy  cove. 

Dr.  Griffith  did  not  mean  to  be  in  any  haste. 
He  made  Jane  sit  down  at  the  foot  of  the  cliff, 
and  stood  beside  her  while  she  rested. 

"  Jane,"  he  said  again,  "  why  did  you  do  all 
this  ?  "  He  asked  as  if  he  meant  to  know. 

And  Jane  knew  he  never  put  a  question  lightly. 
She  looked  at  him  with  clear  eyes,  and  answered 
with  gentle  bravery,  — 

"  I  wanted  to  get  away." 

"  From  what,  please  ?  " 

"  I  think  —  from  myself,  as  much  as  anything." 


248  ASCUTNEY  STREET. 

"And  did  you?" 

"Yes.  Myself  was  scattered  into  spray  and 
carried  off  out  of  me,  over  that  great  sea." 

John  Griffith  looked  down  into  her  face  until 
her  face  looked  down  again  from  him. 

"  Well,  I  forgive  you,  since  it  has  given  us  this, 
together,"  he  said.  "  This  is  nearly  our  last  day 
with  the  sea,  you  know." 

"  I  know." 

"  It  is  hard  to  give  the  New  England  grandeur 
up,  and  go  off  to  bury  one's  self  in  the  heart  of 
the  continent." 

"  Except  that  there  is,  I  suppose,  a  motive,  —  a 
work  to  do  that  could  not  be  done  here,"  said  Jane. 
"  There  are  such  strong  motives  for  men  —  in  a 
world  that  wants  men  all  over  it !  " 

"  Can  you  think  of  any  motive  that  would  take  a 
woman  there,  —  a  woman  who  loved  the  sea  and 
hills  as  —  you  do  ?  " 

Hesitation  was  committal.  If  this  were  an  or 
dinary  question,  the  answer  must  be  instant. 

A  color  crept  up  over  Jane's  throat  and  cheek 
and  brow  ;  she  dared  not  even  turn  her  head  aside, 
that  the  gypsy  hat  might  screen  it.  She  kept  her 
eyes  quiet  and  steadfast,  looking  out  upon  the  level 
water. 

"I  can  think  there  might  be  motives  that  would 
take  a  woman  anywhere,"  she  said,  strong  and 
low. 


ASCUTNEY  STREET.  249 

"  I  can  think  of  but  one  woman  that  I  would 
ask  to  go.  Could  you  —  will  you  —  go  to  Sunny- 
water  with  me  ?  Will  you  belong  to  me,  Jane  ?  " 

Jane  sat  still ;  utterly  silent.  The  greatness  of 
that  which  had  come  to  her  hushed  her  —  held 
her  motionless. 

"  Am  I  asking  too  much?  "  said  Dr.  Griffith. 

Then  she  rose  up  and  stood  before  him,  as  Ruth 
might  have  stood  before  Boaz. 

"  You  are  giving  me  more  than  I  could  think 
God  ever  meant  for  me,"  she  told  him. 

They  reached  the  cottage  in  the  dim  twilight, 
and  Margaret  met  them  at  the  porch. 

"  She  is  your  sister,  Margaret,"  said  John  ;  and 
Margaret  took  her  in  her  arms,  and  held  her  close, 
and  kissed  her. 

The  next  morning  was  full  of  peace  and  sun 
shine.  The  Sunday  blessedness  was  in  and  over 
everything. 

"  I  am  going  to  take  you  to  the  undercliff  again, 
Jane,"  Dr.  Griffith  said,  after  the  breakfast  was 
finished,  and  they  were  out  in  the  fresh  air  before 
the  door.  "  I  want  a  clear,  sure  daylight  talk  with 
you,  —  and  I  want  it  there." 

The  last  sentence  was  for  her  ear  only. 

The  children  caught  the  word  of  the  walk. 
"  May  we  go  too  ?  "  cried  Alice. 


250  ASCUTNEY  STREET. 

Margaret  took  the  little  girl's  hand.  "  Not  this 
time,  Alice.  Uncle  Hans  wants  your  White 
Queen  all  to  himself." 

The  child  looked  wonderingly  from  one  to 
another,  weighing  the  meaning  of  the  answer. 
Her  mother  ft  ever  made  her  an  evasive  one. 

Something  —  who  shall  say  what  —  touched  the 
hidden  woman-heart  in  her,  and  gave  her  a  vague, 
sweet  apprehension.  She  came  and  stood  close 
before  the  two. 

"Uncle  Hans,"  she  said,  "I'll  lend  you  my 
White  Queen.  Queen,  I  '11  lend  you  uncle  Hans. 
But  you  must  be  very  particular  of  each  other,  for 
I  'm  very  particular  of  you  both  !  " 

The  little  rowboat  came  round  into  the  cove, 
while  Jane  and  Dr.  Griffith  were  far  out  toward 
the  lighthouse  point. 

Matt  had  come  to  see  Mrs.  Sunderland,  and  he 
found  her  with  her  book  in  a  sunny  corner  of  the 
rocks. 

"  Do  you  know  what  I  want  to  know  ? "  he 
asked  her.  "  Have  you  come  to  tell  me  ?  " 

"  Yes,  Matthew.  We  shall  all  be  your  friends, 
always.  But  you  will  have  to  give  it  up." 

The  young  fellow  crushed  his  hat  as  he  held  it 
between  his  knees,  and  said  never  a  word. 

"  It  has  only  been  a  few  weeks,"  said  Margaret 
kindly.  "  All  your  life  is  behind  it,  and  all  that 


ASCUTNEY  STREET.  251 

is  to  be  your  life  is  before.     You  must  not  let  this 
one  point  be  all  to  you,  or  spoil  it  all." 

"  It  might  have  made  it  all !  "  exclaimed  Mat 
thew  bitterly.  "And  now — it  may  never  be 
made.  May  I  not  say  anything  to  her  ?  " 

"  It  will  make  you  more  sorry  if  you  do,"  said 
Margaret.  "  I  am  dealing  truly  with  you.  for  I 
know."  He  felt  that  there  was  something  behind 
her  words. 

"  You  have  been  kind  to  me,  at  any  rate,"  he 
said  to  her. 

"Yes,   we   have  both   tried   to   be   kind  —  my 
brother  and  I.     Whatever  happens,  believe  that." 
"What  will   happen?"  he  demanded   quickly, 
grasping  the  truth  that  she  would  fain  not  have 
given  him  all  at  once.     "  Where  is  she  now  ?  " 

Mrs.  Sunderland  laid  her  hand  on  his.  "  They 
are  away  —  walking  —  to  the  lighthouse  rocks," 
she  said. 

He  sat  still  for  several  moments ;  he  held  him 
self  so,  for  pride's  sake  and  for  the  sake  of  that 
sweet,  womanly  touch,  slowly  withdrawn.  Then 
he  got  up,  and  she  stood  also. 

The  little  boat,  lying  dragged  up  on  the  sand, 
lifted  her  pretty,  painted  bow  toward  them.  The 
Dragonfly.  The  name  and  the  winged  creature 
named  for  were  on  the  prow,  in  brilliant,  delicate 
color-drawing. 


252  ASCUTNEY  STREET. 

"  You  find  such  pretty  things  to  call  your  vessels 
by,"  said  Mrs.  Sunderland,  in  the  way  one  does 
say  a  pleasant  irrelevant  word,  to  escape  a  relevant 
one,  or  a  hard  silence. 

Matthew  Morse  shot  a  glance  at  her,  which  she 
answered  as  she  interpreted  it. 

"  Don't  think  I  don't  care,  Matt ;  you  have  a 
way  of  finding  right  things  ;  you  will  find  right 
things  in  your  life." 

A  moment  more  and  he  had  gone,  with  her 
words  like  arrows  in  his  heart. 

"  Eight  things." 

And  Dorothy  Serle  had  found  the  pretty  names 
for  him.  And  Dorothy  Serle  had  painted  the 
slender,  gauze- winged  dragonfly  for  him,  that  no 
coarse,  common  workman  could  have  done. 

Jane  went  back  to  Ascutney  Street.  She  ful 
filled  her  ten  days  with  Mrs.  Turnbull.  When 
she  had  sewed  the  last  tape  loop  inside  the  waist 
band  of  the  last  completed  garment,  and  had  hung 
it  in  the  spare-chamber  closet  where  Mrs.  Turnbull 
kept  the  "  poor  sheep  and  silkworm  "  part  of  her 
as  in  a  shrine,  she  said  to  that  lady  that  she  had 
finished. 

"  Well,  —  what  now  ?  "  was  the  rejoinder.  Mrs. 
Turnbull  had  decided  that  she  would  keep  Jane, 
on  the  old  terms,  manage  it  as  she  might ;  but  she 


ASCUTNEY  STREET.  253 

left  it  to  Jane  herself  to  say  some  word  to  lead  to 
it. 

Jane's  answer  took  her  by  surprise,  now  that 
the  Sunderlands  had  gone  home  —  "  to  the  coun 
try,"  Jane  had  said.  There  was  no  other  place,  she 
thought,  for  the  girl ;  and  she  credited  herself  with 
magnanimity  in  holding  her  own  door  open  —  after 
all. 

"  I  am  going  to  Bay  Hill,"  Jane  said. 

"Where's  Bay  Hill?" 

"  Out  beyond  Exham." 

"  Who  lives  there  ?     Who  do  you  work  for  ?  " 

"  Myself,  I  think,  this  time.  Mrs.  Sunderland 
lives  there.  Mrs.  Turnbull,  I  am  going  to  be  mar 
ried." 

"  Married  !  "  It  was  not  a  question.  Jane  re 
plied  nothing  to  the  mere  explosion. 

"  You  !  "  The  second  exclamation  had  the  as 
tonishment  of  the  impossible  in  it,  as  if  Jane  must 
be  making  plans  all  by  herself  in  life,  which  ordi 
narily  took  two  to  accomplish. 

"I  —  and  another  person,"  Jane  explained  ac 
cordingly,  with  a  smile. 

"  Of  course.     Who  is  it  ?  " 

"John  Griffith.  He  is  Mrs.  Sunderland's 
brother." 

"H— m!  H'm!  H m!  T/iat'sitl  I  dare 

say  you  '11  do  very  well,  Jane ;  very  suitably.  I 


254  ASCUTNEY  STREET. 

hope  so,  I  'm  sure.     But  you  've  been  very  quiet. 

Where  did  you  ever  see  John  Griffith  ?  " 

"  At  Leeport.    And  before  that,  two  years  ago." 
"  All  that  time !     Well,  —  it 's  unriddled  now," 

said  Mrs.  Turnbull  sharp-pointedly. 

Jane   did  not  open   matters  further  by  asking 

what  was  unriddled.     She  thought  she  had  been 

explanatory  enough. 

Mrs.  Turnbull  told  the  news  to  her  husband, 
with  her  usual  involutions. 

"  I  suppose  she  thinks  she  's  bettering  herself. 
They  all  do,"  was  her  preliminary. 

"  It 's  a  human  delusion,"  said  Mr.  Turnbull. 

"  And  it 's  been  going  on  these  two  years,  and 
she  never  said  a  word  !  " 

"  Waiting  for  the  last  word,  I  suppose,  so  that 
she  could  put  it  in  good  shape  first,"  responded 
the  gentleman.  "  It  would  n't  do  to  begin  at  the 
beginning." 

"  I  wish  you  'd  listen  !  It 's  Jane  Gregory  ;  she 
won't  come  here  any  more ;  she  's  going  to  Bay 
Hill,  wherever  that  is,  with  Mrs.  Sunderland ;  she 's 
going  to  be  married  to  Mrs.  Sunderland's  brother, 
a  man  by  the  name  of  John  Griffith  ;  there !  " 

"  Wh— e— ew !  " 

"  Whatever  are  you  whistling  at  ?  It  is  n't  any 
thing  very  extraordinary,  after  all." 


ASCUTNEY  STREET.  255 

"Griffith!  Sunderland!  Bay  Hill !  "  ejacu 
lated  Mr.  Turnbull.  "  Old  lady,  you  Ve  just 
missed  the  best  chance  you  ever  had  in  all  your 
life  ;  and  Eebecca  Louisa  Rickstack  's  got  it !  " 

Now  Mrs.  Turnbull  had  never  been  near  Re 
becca  Rickstack  since  the  latter  came  home  from 
Leeport. 

"  Do  you  know  —  Jane  Gregory 's  going  right 
—  slap  —  in  —  amongst  the  very  first  chop  —  A  1, 
registered  at  Lloyd's  ?  "  demanded  Mr.  Turnbull, 
who  liked  to  be  mercantile,  but  who  mixed  his 
phrases. 

"  No  !  How  ?  "  gasped  Mrs.  Turnbull,  reduced 
to  simplicity  and  directness. 

"  Griffith  and  Sunderland.  Old  L Wharf. 

Griffith  of  Wall  Street.  Boston  and  New  York. 
Rich  as  thunder.  Biggest  swells  going.  What  in 
time  brought  any  of  'em  to  Ascutney  Street  ?  " 

"  I  don't  believe  the  girl  knows  it  herself.  I 
don't  believe  it 's  them,"  panted  Mrs.  Turnbull, 
losing  both  breath  and  grammar. 

"  True  as  revelation.  She  's  got  the  dead  wood 
on  you,  Lorry-Laviny !  "  And  he  left  Lorry-La- 
viny  to  recover,  and  went  off  to  bed. 

Jane  stayed  till  early  spring  at  Bay  Hill. 
When  it  came  to  the  trousseau,  Mrs.  Sunderland 
said  that  was  to  be  her  part.  Jane  put  her  arm 


256  ASCUTNEY  STREET. 

round  her,  and  thanked  her  with  kisses,  but  de 
clared  there  was  no  need.  "  I  have  nearly  six  hun 
dred  dollars  for  it,"  she  told  her ;  "  and  I  'm  so 
glad!" 

But  more  than  six  hundred  other  dollars  were 
dropped  in,  in  casual  contributions,  besides  the 
stated,  stately  bridal  gift  in  orthodox  silver. 

Miss  Rickstack  came  to  the  wedding.  The 
Turnbulls  were  invited.  Do  you  think  they  went  ? 

Mrs.  Turnbull  did  ;  her  husband  could  not  leave 
his  business  in  the  morning. 

"  Of  course  ;  why  should  n't  I  ?  "  the  Ascutney 
Street  lady  said.  "  I  was  her  first  friend.  I 
picked  her  up  when  she  was  nowhere.  If  it  had 
n't  been  for  me,  she  would  n't  have  been  anywhere 
now.  I  shall  send  her  a  butterknife." 

So  she  did ;  and  a  week  after  the  wedding-day, 
she  went  out  to  Bay  Hill  again,  and  called  on  Mrs. 
Sunderland. 

Mrs.  Turnbull  really  thought  Ascutney  Street 
did  it ;  and  that  henceforth  Ascutney  Street  might 
claim  relationship  with  Bay  Hill.  Through  Miss 
Rickstack  it  did ;  she  was  never  "  set  down  "  again, 
or  forgotten.  And  through  Miss  Rickstack  and 
The  Crocus  crept  an  inner  influence  that  made  a 
link  of  reality. 

The  good  ladies  were  gradually  less  afraid  of 
the  honest  truths  of  their  existence ;  less  eagerly 


ASCUTNEY  STREET.  257 

anxious  about  the  visible  aspects.  "Miss  Kick- 
stack  did  thus  and  so ;  "  and  Miss  Rickstack  stayed 
at  Bay  Hill  days  and  days  together,  and  had  the 
Sunderlands  to  take  tea  or  stay  to  lunch,  without 
ever  making  either  "  teas  "  or  "  lunches." 

They  began  to  find  out  that  a  mere  shell  of  cus 
tom,  precisely  like  that  convenient  to  their  own 
living,  was  not  the  thing  these  truly  fine  people 
always  looked  for,  by  which  to  fasten  their  best 
associations  with  the  lives  of  others. 

Mrs.  Sunderland  had  caught  the  right  one  in  her 
little  "  trap  "  of  genuineness,  and  had  let  her  go  to 
good  result  among  her  comrades.  Miss  Rickstack 
ruled  Ascutney  Street,  and  was  uplifting  it ;  but 
there  was  never  a  meeker,  more  unconscious  poten 
tate. 

Mrs.  Turnbull  thought  things  were  growing  very 
common  there.  It  was  a  failure  for  her,  and  in  a 
year  or  two  she  moved  awa}^. 

Mrs.  Sunderland  had  received  her  wedding-party 
call  politely,  but  had  never  initiated  further  civilities. 

I  had  to  come  back  to  Ascutney  Street  at  the 
end,  for  we  began  there,  and  it  is  there  the  little 
moral  of  my  story  lies,  if  it  has  one ;  but  I  should 
like  to  take  you  all  the  way  out  to  Sunnywater. 

I  should  like  to  show  you  the  long,  low  house 
from  which  the  beautiful  turf  spreads  away  in 


258  ASCUTNEY  STREET. 

slopes  and  swells  under  the  great  black-walnuts; 
I  should  like  to  show  you  the  rooms  inside,  lovely 
with  every  touch  and  sign  of  heart-abidingness, 
but  not  "  decorated  "  with  anything. 

I  should  like  to  have  you  see  Dr.  Griffith  come 
riding  home  at  night  on  his  fine  bay  that  he  calls 
Sagamore,  for  Sachem's  brother,  with  Sachem 
bounding  at  his  heels ;  see  the  doctor  fling  the 
bridle  on  the  horse's  neck,  while  Bat  Knutsen 
takes  him  by  the  bit  to  lead  him  to  his  stable  ; 
while  John  Griffith  puts  his  arm  round  Jane,  wait 
ing  for  him  at  the  door,  and  they  go  off  together  to 
watch  the  sunset  at  a  certain  point  where  it  blazes 
across  a  distant,  wonderful  vista ;  while  Mrs.  Knut 
sen  gets  the  tea  upon  the  table  —  "  the  yems  and 
the  yonny-cake  and  the  yinyer,"  with  a  steak  or  a 
prairie  chicken  for  substantial  —  to  have  all  ready 
when  the  two  shall  come  in  again,  happy  with  hun 
ger,  and  hungry  with  happiness. 

"  Is  it  as  good  as  it  may  have  been  among  the 
islands,  two  hours  ago  ?  "  asks  Dr.  Griffith,  stand 
ing  with  his  wife  in  the  glory  that  sweeps  from  a 
far  horizon  line,  over  one  knows  not  what  between, 
into  this  noble  woodland  colonnade,  to  drop  at  their 
feet  its  long-sped,  splendid  shafts.  "  Is  it  as  good 
for  you  as  that,  or  must  we  go  to  Sheepscote 
River?" 

And  Jane  says,  in  that  peculiar  way  of  hers,  as 


ASCUTNEY  STREET.  259 

if   thought   felt   itself    carefully   into   the    truest 
words,  — 

"  Everything  is  as  good  as  everything.  The  day 
is  n't  over  till  it  has  all  got  lighted  up  ;  the  world 
is  round,  and  life  is  as  round  as  the  world,  John !  " 


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OTotto  of  Jfictton 


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of  jftction  9 


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of  fiction  13 


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14  OTotto  of  jftrtion 

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OTorfes  of  jftctton*  15 

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1 6  OTotfes  of  Jftction 

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of  jfictton  21 

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of  jftction  23 


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24  OTorfes  of  jFtctton 

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OTorfes  of  Jftction  27 

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OTorfes  of  fiction  29 

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30  OTorfts  of  jftctton 

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OTotfes  of  jftctton  31 

William   Makepeace  Thackeray. 

Complete  Works.  Illustrated  Library  Edi 
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plush.  16.  The  Virginians.   II. 

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32  OTorks  of  jftction 

.g—. — . —  •-  •    — • 

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of  jFtcttott  33 


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of  jFittton  35 


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